


Only Flesh With Its Life

by LaMepriseFangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addict Sam, Demon Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sam's POV, Season 10 Spoilers, Wincest - Freeform, season 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMepriseFangirl/pseuds/LaMepriseFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has spent six weeks searching for his dead brother only to find out that Dean is a demon and he's been living it up with the King of Hell. Crowley, however, has given up on Dean and handed him over to Sam. Dean of course has no wish to be cured and would rather keep the party going. It will take a lot to persuade Sam to give up on "fixing" Dean and accept the demon as his brother, and it means being led down a dark path.</p><p>"Vermilion" starts immediately following 10x02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> _Only flesh with its life—its blood—you must not eat._  
>  -Genesis 9:4
> 
> Please note, I have not specified trigger warnings in the description or tags, but I will give more detail in individual chapter notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue take place several months after Chapter I.
> 
>  _Besides that, I will demand an accounting for your lifeblood. I will demand an accounting from every living creature; and from each man I will demand an accounting for the life of his brother._  
>  -Genesis 9:5

There is no need for an examination of conscience.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Sam says just above a whisper in the darkness of the confessional.

"I-..."

Hours spent thinking about this, and he still has to search for the right words.

"...My brother was killed."

He did a lot of things he isn't proud of during those six weeks he was searching for Dean, things that real demons raised eyebrows at. But he isn't going to confess those things.

"I defiled my brother's corpse.

"I cut him open and drank his blood... too many times to count." Sam exhales, bracing himself, before continuing. "And I fu- I _fornicated_ with his body. There were seven incidents I initiated and ten more that I allowed to happen.

"Dean's body was in my care. With complete knowledge and consent, I desecrated it, I desecrated _him_. And I enjoyed it.

" _Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum, sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia tua, de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum._ Amen."

A feeling of cleanliness descends and Sam knows his blood is purified, but it's little comfort when the only absolution that truly matters to him is what he'll receive—or be denied—in eight hours from his brother.


	2. Chapter I - Vermilion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vermilion is the color they get from cinnabar, i.e. mercury sulfide. Right now, Dean is what I like to call mercurial sulfur.  
> Takes place immediately following 10x02.

The words won't stop echoing in Sam's head: _What I'm gonna do to you, Sammy, well, that ain't gonna be mercy either._

Dean knows him better than anyone. If he wants to hurt Sam, he's going to succeed. 

But what the hell does the demon mean?

Sam drives back to the bunker silently. It's good to be in the Impala again, even if Dean is in the backseat and it's a mess. And Dean called it "just a car."

His brother is sullen in the backseat. He's probably calculating against Sam, planning his escape. Figuring out how to get away before Sam gets him into the dungeon.

_What I'm gonna do to you, Sammy._

If it came from anyone but his brother, Sam would assume a sexual implication.

Thing is, Dean isn't Dean right now; he's a demon.

Sam pushes the thoughts away. His brother isn't going to make suggestive comments. Dean may be a demon, but he's not that far gone. Maybe.

*

In order to detach Dean from the car door, Sam must unlock one of the handcuffs. He keeps the demon-killing knife ready and watches Dean carefully for signs he's about to make a break for it.

Dean stares at him with a look of utter hatred as Sam quickly snaps the handcuff back on.

"Out," Sam says, opening the door the rest of the way. 

Dean gets out of the car. Sam takes him by the shoulder and marches him into the bunker.

"So what's the plan, Sammy? Throw me in the dungeon while you find an old church and figure out what to confess?"

Sam doesn't answer.

"What _are_ you gonna confess?" 

"I'll find something."

"How about what you did last summer?"

Sam stops, grip tightening on Dean, who turns to face him.

"Oh yeah," Dean says, grinning at having struck a nerve. "Word got around. Most demons didn't believe it. Even Crowley was surprised to hear about you using 'enhanced interrogation techniques.'"

There's nothing to say to the demon about it. Sam was desperate.

He's about to resume walking when Dean raises his clasped hands and hits him square in the chest. Sam gets the knife out faster than the speed of his thoughts but Dean doesn't need to pull anything out to knee him in the groin.

Sam crumples to the floor, breaking his fall best as he can with his non-injured arm. Within one second, the demon has Sam facedown under him, pinning him with a knee on his back. He gets the chain of the handcuffs around Sam's neck and pulls back, hard.

Sam uses his one free hand to pull at the chain. It's useless; even with demonic manacles, Dean is far stronger than he was before he got the Mark. Sam can't dislodge his brother and his mind slows as he loses air. The world is beginning to go dark when the pressure suddenly vanishes. He gulps in air and is barely aware of it when Dean grabs the knife. By the time he's out of the haze, the cool metal edge of the blade is pressed against his throat. 

"One move, Sam, and I will cut your throat. You'll watch me drink your blood as you die, and when I'm done drinking..." Dean leans so close his warm breath goes into Sam's ear. "Oh, the _things_ I will do to your corpse."

Sam takes a few more deep breaths before replying.

"And my alternative?"

"You let me out of these cuffs, then I'm free to go."

"How do I know you won't kill me the second I take 'em off?"

"If I really wanted to kill you, I would just do it now. I ain't afraid to pickpocket a dead guy."

Sam tries to think. This has something to do with mercy or lack thereof.

"I'm a man of my word, Sam," Dean prods.

"You're a demon."

"And 'demons lie,'" Dean mocks, exasperated. "Alright, you wanna make a deal?"

"What?" 

"We can make a legitimate deal, Sammy. Binding. I won't try to kill you if you let me walk and don't try to cure me."

"...What about my soul?"

"Crowley is the one who wants souls. I don't work for Crowley. Hell, I want to kill that son of a bitch more than you do. ...Y'know, we could work together." 

"After we fix you, we'll go after Crowley."

"It'll be easier with me as a demon."

Sam reflects on his situation. A demon who is also Dean has him pinned to the floor with a knife to his throat. A demon who isn't afraid to kill him, even if he might prefer not to.

"How about this, Dean: armistice until Crowley is dead. No tricks, no traps, no killing, no running. We stick together like we always have."

Dean thinks it over.

"Sounds good to me."

"...Are you going to let me up?"

"One more condition, Sam."

"What?"

"I'm thinkin', it'll be easier getting Crowley with me as a demon, but even _easier_ if you're at full strength."

"My arm-"

"No, no, Sammy, I mean the full strength you haven't been at for a long, long time. The kind I can give you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Demon blood, Sam."

Sam's entire body goes cold.

"No."

"Imagine how easy it will be getting past demons hopped up on my blood. Imagine putting Crowley through so much pain even _he_ can't get off on it."

"No way."

"You'd rather die, wouldn't you? You wouldn't drink it to save your life."

"I'll  _never_ -"

"You'd drink it to save my life, though. If you die today, chances are nobody's gonna bother trying to cure me. I'll be a demon until the day someone finds a way to snuff me."

Everything about this, from what Dean's suggesting to the fact that he is the one suggesting it, screams wrong at Sam. But there's nothing for him to lose, is there? And once Crowley is dead, if Sam's still on demon blood, he can use it against Dean. 

"Fine."

Dean flips his brother over, keeping the knife to Sam's throat. He licks his lips as he looks into Sam's eyes.

"You know how to seal a demon deal, Sam."

So he has to kiss his brother. Whatever, Sam decides. He's done plenty of shit a lot more unpleasant than that. Like drinking demon blood.

Dean raises the knife to his own mouth and makes a deep cut across his lower lip. Blood wells in the wound as his face gets closer and closer.

Shutting his eyes, Sam kisses the lips that press against his. He ignores the warm wetness on Dean's lip at first; then he gives in and swipes over it with the tip of his tongue. The flavor, the soft tang of blood, quickly dilutes as his mouth waters.

Last chance, Sam thinks. He could still spit it out, find another way.

He swallows.


	3. Chapter II - Alizarin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alizarin is a compound used as a red dye. Originally it came from the madder plant, madder being the common name for the genus scientifically known as _Rubia_.

Sam waits, eyes closed, nearly panting against the demon's mouth as blood leaks onto his lip, floor cool and hard under him, his shirt bunched in his brother's fists. The taste of blood has all but vanished in his mouth.

Then something in him snaps and a thirst he hasn't felt in years is tearing at him from the inside.

He grabs the back of Dean's head with his hand, not letting the demon move a centimeter. It's all about the blood; blood is everything. He doesn't think about the fact that he's sucking his brother's lip into his mouth, nursing at it to draw out every drop of poison he can get.

After some minutes, he begins to feel sated. Around then it hits him that he's only sucked blood in front of his brother once before, when he didn't know Dean was watching until it was too late. Now he's drinking it directly from Dean's body.

Sam breaks the kiss by turning his head away. Still under the weight of his brother, he stares at where the floor meets the wall wishing he could vomit everything he just swallowed. They're going to have to live with this memory, and everything else he does from now on.

But there's nothing to do but fish for the key in his pocket and free Dean from the manacles, concentrating very hard on the etched metal. Dean gets up and backs away the second he's freed. The cut on his lip has already healed, Sam notices when he dares glance up.

Still keeping his eyes away from his brother's, Sam gets to his feet. It's odd, having that power again. He has no words for when the blood is in him; it's like trying to describe being in pain. Either there is pain or there isn't—either the dark, unclean power is in him or it isn't. Trying to describe it to another person is impossible if they've never experienced it.

"Want to go on a little test run?" the demon asks. "You're probably rusty."

Sam wonders if he's visibly shaking.

"Later," he answers.

His phone starts ringing then. He checks his phone; it's Castiel. He clears his throat a couple times before picking up.

"Hey, Cas."

_"Sam. Any news about Dean?"_

Dean stands with his arms crossed, watching Sam.

"Uh, yeah. He's here at the bunker."

_"What's your plan? Are you going to cure him?"_

"No. I mean, not yet. We agreed to take down Crowley first."

Cas is silent. Probably deciding whether to press for details.

 _"I'm on my way to the bunker now,"_ the angel says finally. _"I should be there this afternoon."_

"...You don't need to come, Cas. We're fine."

That earns a look of approval from Dean.

_"Are you sure?"_

"Yeah. I'll call if we need you."

 _"Sam, you're working with a_ demon _. You shouldn't do that alone. Look where it's led before. You letting Lucifer out, me opening Purgatory, Dean getting the Mark."_

"Dean is different."

_"If Dean's a demon, he's not your brother anymore. You can't trust him like you used to. He could be working for Crowley."_

"Trust me, he's not working with Crowley. It's okay, Cas. You should be worrying about yourself."

As if to agree, Castiel starts coughing.

"I'll call if we need you," Sam repeats once the fit is over. He ends the call and puts his phone away before turning his attention to Dean.

"Is Cas coming?" Dean asks.

"No."

"Good."

*

Sam is at his laptop, beginning to accept that there is almost no useful lore on the Mark of Cain, let alone its removal, when Dean comes into the library and sits on the edge of the table right next to Sam.

Crossing his arms, the human pushes his chair a couple inches back to look his brother in the eye.

"It's been two days, Sam," Dean says. "You've done nothing but research and avoid me. What are we waiting for? We should be out there hunting down Crowley."

"You have somewhere to start looking?"

"A few somewheres. But before we leave, I want to see what you can do with your powers."

"...Fine. Let's go summon a demon."

"You can test yourself on me."

"What about our truce?"

"I'm consenting. Deal stands."

"No. I'm going to find another demon." Sam stands, closing his laptop. He turns and starts to walk away.

"How're you gonna find one? Use some pathetic son of a bitch with a crappy divorce lawyer again? Why hand Crowley another soul when you have a demon right in front of you?"

Sam stops in the archway.

"Because I don't care if you say it's okay. I'm not going to use that power on you."

Dean's voice is smug:

"Oh, this is about being brothers, isn't it?"

At that comment, Sam turns around.

"Why shouldn't it be?"

"Because it's an act. Every choice you make, it's just 'cause you're desperate for approval. When Big Brother's not watching, you go off the rails until he comes back and sets you straight. But I don't want you 'fixing' me, Sam. I _like_ what I am. I'm not going back. And what I am right now doesn't judge you for the blood or the power. Hell, I'm not judging you for Lester, or for torturing those demons as long as you have the sac to own up to it. So you can stop trying to be good, Sammy. Nobody gives a damn what you do and no one ever will, because your brother ain't coming back."

Mouth open, Sam's mind flounders for a reply.

"Not so easy to tell yourself 'demons lie' now, is it?" Dean taunts.

Finally a response presents itself. Grasping the power in his body, Sam flicks his wrist and sends the demon flying across the room. He keeps Dean pinned to the wall with a thought.

"Oh, man, that's- that's  _bracing_!" Dean exclaims. "If you can do this with just a shot of-"

Sam is staring at his hand, reply forgotten.

"I shouldn't be this strong." He releases his brother. "Not with so little."

"It's probably the Mark. Diesel fuel."

"Could be that we're blood. Family."

The demon sighs, irritated with the attempted segue.

"For all we know, could be that you used your left hand. You know, the Devil's hand," he snaps. Then he pulls out a knife and holds it by the blade. "Get over here, Sam."

Sam approaches slowly and accepts the knife. He pushes up Dean's sleeve before taking out a small flask. He knew this would happen soon enough.

"You're not gonna use your mouth?"

Ignoring the question, Sam makes a cut about halfway between Dean's wrist and elbow. He holds the bottle under it, letting the blood trickle in.

"Would it remind you too much of Ruby? You afraid of getting turned on?"

Sam looks his brother in the eye.

"...Whatever you're trying to do, Dean, it's not going to work."

Holding Sam's gaze with black eyes, the demon smiles.

"Oh, it's already working."

*

Crowley is in his throne room when he gets the memo.

He immediately goes to his office to study the contract in full, eyes widening as he reads.

"Moose, what are you doing?" he mutters at the paper.

"You and you," he says to two of his valets. "Spread the word: avoid the Winchesters at all costs. If they try to summon anyone, I'm to be informed immediately."

The demons vanish and the King of Hell reads the terms of the deal one more time before turning the paper to ash.


	4. Chapter III - Stammel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stammel refers to a shade of red they often dyed a woolen cloth of the same name, once used for making undergarments.

Sam retreats to his bedroom with the fresh blood and locks the door. He shoves the flask in with some clothes in his bureau and slams the drawer shut. He's not too thirsty yet; it's easy to resist if he tells himself it is.

*

"Sa-am..." Dean says, just outside Sam's room.

Sam gets up and unlocks his door, yawning. When he opens it, the demon walks in.

"What is it, Dean?"

"Wanna to hunt down Crowley or what?"

"Sure, why not? It's just... two in the morning!"

"You're cute when you're sarcastic," Dean comments as he pokes around Sam's desk. "You haven't even slept."

Sam wonders if he misheard his brother. Cute?

"You said you know where he might be," he says.

Dean turns to address Sam, leaning against the desk.

"He's got a few favorite dives for when he's topside. But right now, he's probably in Hell."

Sam sits on the side of his bed.

"We're not... gonna... march into Hell, are we?"

"That's plan B."

"What's plan A?"

"Surveillance. Up here. Tap into security cameras or set up our own."

"...Crowley's pretty smart, Dean. He knows that you know about those places. He's going to set up ambushes. And, uh, not show up at any of them."

"He'll be prepared for two humans in a week or two, not a demon and a demon blood-powered freak now. We could take on twenty, thirty demons together. Leave one for questioning, kill him after he talks."

"We could- we could bleed a couple," Sam suggests. Preoccupied by the epithet his brother used, he's completely unprepared for Dean's response.

" _No._ " The demon walks right up to him, grabs a fistful of hair and uses it to pull Sam's head back, force him to look at his face. His eyes are black. "My blood is the only blood you drink."

"If you want me powerful enough to take on the King of Hell, I'm going to need more than you can give me."

"More what, Sam?"

The only response he deigns to give the demon is a stare.

"Stop it with the pure innocent daisy thing already, as if it's too _unclean_ to acknowledge what you do. Say it."

"What's it to you as long as I'm doing it? Why do you care if I- I embrace it?"

Dean leans down, yanking Sam's head sideways so he can whisper directly in his ear, his breath tickling Sam's skin.

"Well, what's not to like about you sucking me?"

The room is dead silent as chills spread over one side of Sam's body. Brothers don't talk like this. And yet, he can perfectly visualize the lewd smile on Dean's face.

"I see those goosebumps, Sammy."

Dean is a demon, Sam reminds himself. All demons do this.

"You can't do much without my say-so."

"Don't flatter yourself. I could have had my way with you. I passed." The rough grip on Sam's hair softens to nearly a caress.

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm just trying to understand what makes you tick, Sam. I know everything about you, how to hurt you, how to make you pissed. I know what will make you laugh, I know how to annoy the crap out of you. But I don't get why you'll let me do this-" Pushing one knee between Sam's thighs to rest it on the edge of the mattress, a bare fraction of an inch from Sam's crotch, Dean starts to unbutton Sam's shirt. "-sooner than just  _admitting_  that you like to chug demon blood."

Sam cranes his neck away and makes eye contact. He doesn't flinch.

"You aren't the first demon to grope me or make creepy comments. You know that."

Taking him by the chin, what was once his brother speaks to Sam softly but with complete conviction:

"If you don't stop me, I'm gonna keep going until I'm doin' things to you that _nobody_ has done before." He touches Sam's bottom lip with his thumb as he passes the tip of his tongue over his own. "Let alone your big brother."

Unable to come up with a response, the human stares back at Dean. He can't even bring himself to push away the hand on his bared chest, the heel of Dean's palm subtly rubbing one nipple. He doesn't really feel the need to say no to this, creepy as it is to be feeling the slightest tingle in his body because of his brother.

"Would you rather have this, _Sam_? Would you take a dick up your ass instead? Would you swallow my come before you swallowed my blood?"

The words he's hearing, the setting, the way Dean is touching him—Sam can't stop his body from reacting further. Mouth dry, he can only hope he's hiding his nervousness. The slightest swelling in his jeans will press against the demon's leg. And sure, it's just a natural physical response, but if Dean-

Too late.

Dean looks down between them; Sam's gaze follows. He reminds himself as the bulge grows that unwanted boners from demons aren't new either.

"I think I know the answer," Dean says.

"It doesn't matter what I'd rather do. I'm already drinking your blood."

Dean grins, changing the mood of the whole room.

"Atta boy." He pats Sam on the back before leaving the room as if nothing happened.

Uneasy and inexplicably disappointed, Sam buttons up his shirt.

*

"So when we are leaving?" Sam asks when he sees Dean next.

"Whenever you're ready to go. We're gonna be on the road for a couple weeks."

Sam nods and takes a breath before pulling out his knife. It took a good hour to talk himself into going through with this.

"You can heal yourself at will, right?" he asks.

The demon nods, intrigued.

"So it's safe to cut your throat?"

Dean smiles as he backs up against the wall. He pulls off his shirt and drops it on the floor.

"Don't be afraid to get messy. Just say when."

Sam approaches and puts the knife to his brother's throat. It's not the demon-killing knife; it won't cause Dean pain. He just needs to apply pressure and slide the blade over a bit. It will not kill his brother.

He's still shaking, trying to keep the edge of the blade pressed into Dean's flesh.

"Don't pussy out, Sam."

"Shut up."

"Do I have to open the lid for you, Sammy?"

A sense of indignity flares; Sam finally makes the cut.

"Does it feel like you have to?" he hisses as blood streams down Dean's throat and chest. His brother's lips form the shape of the word _Fuck_. Sam stops wasting time then and does what he's aching to—press his tongue against the dark red liquid on Dean's skin. Screw the sling on his arm.

His brother he can still smell, but it's under the bouquet of blood paired with a hint of sulfur. Individually, the latter two scents never appealed to him, but together they mean he's about to feel power. He closes his mouth over the wound, lets the demon's blood flow into his mouth. He can practically gulp it down.

And when secluded, sucking it out of a consenting party, it's impossible not to get turned on. It's a simple Pavlovian response. Damn Ruby.

He fights the instinct to rub himself against Dean as he swallows the blood, only to fail to retain space between them. His body simply gravitates toward the other man's as he drinks. He's focused on using his hand to tilt his brother's head just so, not how his dick is hard against Dean's thigh.

"Sam."

"Mm?"

Abruptly, the well dries up. Dean has healed himself.

"If you want more blood, Sam, you're sucking it from my tongue."

"What?" The human is in a slight daze. He's gotten enough blood to feel the beginnings of a power trip, but he's still thirsty.

Dean pulls out one of his switchblades. He sticks out his tongue and makes a deep slash.

"Why?"

"I feel like it. Come on, Sammy."

What he's already swallowed isn't enough, not when there's more right in front of him. It doesn't matter, Sam decides. Touching Dean like this is nothing compared to what he's already done, what he  _is_ doing.

He pulls his brother's face closer to seal his mouth over Dean's. The demon teases him, first letting Sam suck his tongue into his mouth, then withdrawing and forcing him to chase after the blood.

Again, Sam isn't paying attention to how close his body is to Dean's. Then he feels a hand slipping into his jeans and underwear, palming his cock. His brother's hand.

He breaks the connection that is definitely not a kiss but doesn't pull away.

"Dean, what the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it feel like?" Dean's hand stops moving. When Sam doesn't reply soon enough, he adds, " _How_ does it feel? Good?"

Sam doesn't know what to say. Why not tell the truth? Why not let this happen?

Because it's his brother. This is Dean, but not enough of Dean for it to be okay.

He pulls the demon's hand out of his briefs, inhaling sharply at the friction.

"You're saying no?" Dean asks, eyebrows raised.

"I'm saying no."

Dean shrugs and then picks up his shirt and walks away.

"Your loss," he calls out.

*

The next couple weeks are spent driving around the country, hacking into security camera systems or setting up their own so they can watch all of what Dean claims are Crowley's favorite places.

"What if we see him in North Dakota when we're in New Hampshire?" Sam asks one night in their motel room.

"You forgetting, Sam? I-" Dean begins, standing on the far side of his bed, and without pausing continues, suddenly standing immediately in front of Sam, "-can do this."

"Can you take me?"

Dean grips Sam's shoulder and the next thing Sam knows they're standing on the other side of the room.

"It's pretty damn difficult with all that blood in you," the demon comments.

"Which is why we're driving everywhere."

Dean nods before turning away.

The human takes out a knife and his empty flask.

"Dean."

"Thirsty, Sam?"

"Mmhmm."

The way to make sure Dean knows that he's not in control, Sam has decided, is to take Dean by surprise when he's thirsty. It means draining and filling the bottle more often than he really needs to. Sam tells himself that it's more often than he wants, but when he's swallowing demon blood, it's hard to imagine not craving the sense of security and power it gives him.

*

Dean has a habit of insisting they stay one or two nights at every establishment. He finds excuses and after the first time, when Sam watches Dean enjoying himself singing and drinking, he's loath to say no. He hasn't seen his brother happy in ages and even if it's not really his brother, it  _look_ _s_ like his brother.

But he still says no when Dean invites him to karaoke "Don't Stop Me Now."

*

It's been just over three weeks since they left the bunker when Dean says that's the last one.

"Kind of weird we haven't run into any demons," he comments as they drive away, headed back to Kansas.

"Maybe that's a good thing. The longer Crowley doesn't know about this the better." 

Dean looks at Sam for long seconds.

Sam sighs and glares.

"The longer Crowley doesn't know that I'm on demon blood and you're still not human."

Dean turns back to the road.

"Wait a second. Dean... if we made a deal, wouldn't he know about it?"

After a moment's thought, Dean replies:

"He'd dissolve it the second he found out. He doesn't want me a demon any more than you do. The deal's still in place. ...Did it really take you a _month_ to think of that?"

"He could find out any time, though, couldn't he?"

"Doubt it. Your soul's not involved and it's not like I have to register the deal or anything to make it binding."

Sam frowns.

"Are you sure?"

"All I can tell you is that the deal's still in place. Unless you break your terms, I can't hurt you or run off if I don't plan on coming back."

*

They're back at the bunker again before Sam decides it's time to drink again. In his head, at least, it's gotten easier to acknowledge the act as "drinking demon blood." He still feels sick if he thinks of it as Dean's.

He finds Dean in his bedroom, listening to music—as a demon, Dean's appreciation for genres other than mullet rock has increased. He closes the door behind him and takes the knife out. It's refreshing to be able to use his right arm like usual again.

"No," Dean says before Sam even has the flask open.

"What?"

"Not in the mood for you to cut me open right now."

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope. Try again later."

Sam sheaths the knife and leaves, muttering "The hell?" under his breath.

*

The next day, Sam tries again. Dean says no.

"Do you want something from me?"

Dean leans back against his pillows, hands behind his head.

"Tell you what. Let's find out if demon come works as well as demon blood. Then you can have some Powerade."

"Fuck no."

"Then not today."

"Drinking blood is part of the deal."

"You only need to drink enough to be powerful." Dean holds up his hand, his palm facing the human. Sam barely feels anything beyond a slight breeze ruffling his hair. "You're good."

*

For a week, Dean says no every time Sam asks. They take turns playing security guard, watching the various security cameras which feels stupid but makes just enough sense for Sam not to question it aloud, and otherwise keeping on the lookout for Crowley, occasionally doing normal things like watching movies, which unsettles Sam. His brother is a demon and they're acting like he's not.

What worries him more is having gotten the impression that the Mark of Cain will drive Dean to kill, and Dean hasn't killed for over a month. He may be safe under their armistice, but others aren't. So he doesn't argue about staying in the bunker even though he's considering going out and finding another demon to drink from. After all, just because Dean wants him to drink only his blood doesn't mean it's in their contract.

*

For the fourth time, Sam puts some warm water into the flask, swishes it around, and drinks. Every trace of blood is gone. He has a tight pain in his head, like he's dehydrated, but no amount of water will help.

*

They're in the library when Dean makes a point to get close to Sam. Inches away, the blood running under the demon's skin is so tempting Sam entertains an image of pushing him down on the table, biting him.

"What's wrong, Sammy?"

"You know what."

"Do I?"

"I need more demon blood. If you won't let me drink from you, I need another demon. I don't care what you said."

"My offer stands."

"What, sex? I don't turn tricks, Dean, and especially not for my brother."

"It's not turning tricks if I pleasure you too. It's incentive. Think about how hard you got that night, and when you were sucking blood from my tongue."

"I don't want to have sex with you, Dean."

"Oh come on, you told me about when Ruby fucked you. She didn't even give you blood."

"It was different back then."

"No it's not. You're just as alone, scared, angry, and desperate to forget that you didn't save your brother as you were back then." Taking Sam's face in his hands, Dean looks him in the eye. Sam can smell the blood vessels in his brother's fingers; it's maddening. The demon continues, "I can make it good, Sam. I swear, you're gonna like it as much as you like sucking blood."

" _Dean._ "

"Lemme fill you up, Sam. Lemme take you to the edge of coming untouched. We can stop if it doesn't feel good, but if you let me finish, you can drink as long as you want."

All Sam can think is that he shouldn't. He shouldn't want it and he shouldn't do it. He shouldn't let the demon get to him just by looking at him, touching his face. What he already does is no excuse for letting Dean do something that will hurt him when he's human again.

"It won't be anything like Ruby or any other bitch you hooked up with. It'll feel like somebody's making love to you. You even remember what that feels like, Sam?"

"Do you?"

"There's a way to find out for yourself."


	5. Chapter IV - Incarnadine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incarnadine is "the color of raw flesh." As someone who's worked in a deli wrapping up raw steaks for people, I can vouch for this.  
>  _Simply be firmly resolved not to eat the blood, because the blood is the soul and you must not eat the soul with the flesh._  
>  -Deuteronomy 12:23

"Your room or mine?" Dean asks as he watches Sam's resolve breaking.

What Sam means to say is "no" but his response is very different:

"Yours."

"Then come on, Sam."

Sam follows the demon through the corridors and into his brother's room.

The first thing Dean does is kiss Sam, passionate and sweet at the same time. He unbuttons Sam's shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, then peels the dark v-neck off, only briefly interrupting the kisses he's bestowing.

Warm hands are all over his skin and Sam hesitantly starts to undress Dean as he kisses him back. Why is this so easy? Is he really this desperate?

"How do you want to do this?" Dean asks.

"I don't know."

The demon pulls Sam closer to the bed and guides him into lying on his back, head on the pillow.

It should feel dirty, being on his brother's bed like this, smelling Dean all around him, but he's shaking from thirst for blood, and that's dirtier than anything he might have done to him by Dean.

It should feel creepy, too, Dean kissing his lips and then kissing his way down Sam's body. What isn't his brother is all demon, and demons don't make love. They just fuck, hot and frantic, and anything else is a lie.

More passive than Sam can ever remember being in bed, he lets Dean remove his jeans and underwear, lifting his hips briefly as they're tugged down. When Dean moves up to look into his eyes, Sam feels the strongest urge to touch his brother. Just to feel Dean, alive. Instead, he keeps his hands in tight, anxious fists.

"When we're done, there's a knife on the table."

The younger brother nods.

"Ready, Sam?"

"Yes."

"Get on your hands and knees."

He obeys, not sure how this is going to feel like anything but humiliation. Dean procures lube and starts to stretch him. The demon seems to think he can actually make this feel good.

It doesn't hurt too much if Sam closes his eyes and concentrates on simply breathing and relaxing his muscles. Dean says nothing about how he's trembling.

Soon enough, he feels Dean's weight on the mattress shifting, hears the demon shedding the last of his clothes.

"I'm gonna slide in you real slow, Sammy, alright?"

Sam nods, throat too dry to speak. He's shaking more than ever at the first touch of Dean's cock. There's revulsion and sick anticipation and a horrified thrill all tangled up and festering with every inch the demon pushes in. He almost whimpers once Dean is all the way in. It's so unnatural to have something inside him, so dirty that it's his brother, but it feels... okay on more levels than Sam wants to admit.

The demon reaches around to feel how hard Sam is—which is not very hard, but he's not soft either. Sam feels the scoff as much as hears it. "See, it's not the worst thing in the world, is it?" Dean says as he runs his fingers down Sam's inner thigh. Then he smoothes his hands over the human's sides, caressing him before he pulls out and thrusts in gently.

"What do you think, Sam? You think you could get used to this?"

Panting, Sam can't come up with the right words. There are a hundred different responses he could give, all true. Some of them would make Dean angry and others might please him. He clears his throat and finally answers:

"I just want the blood."

There's outright laughter in response.

"And you said you don't turn tricks."

Sam says nothing. He deserves it, the pain and shame of being sodomized for demon blood.

No, it's not like making love. Sam was an idiot to think it might be true. There's no point in stopping now, when he can smell the demon so clearly, and there's already a dick in his ass.

And so he grasps the sheets in his hands and waits as Dean fucks him, grunting with the force of the thrusts. The illusion of making this good for Sam seems to have passed.

Finally Dean pulls out. A few seconds later Sam feels his brother come on his ass.

"On your back, Sam."

Sam turns over, tries to relax as Dean starts to stroke him. He studies the demon's face.

"You don't remember what it's like to have sex with someone you really care about," he accuses.

"I didn't promise anything. We're both getting what we wanted, anyway."

"...You wanted this?"

"I've been thinking about it. I'm just patient enough to make things easy for myself and get your consent."

Sam stares up at the ceiling until there's too much stimulation and he shoots come into Dean's hand with a soft groan.

He has no idea what to think about what they've just done. His brother just fucked him, implied that he's interested in him, and gave him a handjob.

"Still thirsty for my blood, Sam?"

Dean picks up the knife by the blade and offers it. The human takes the knife and guides Dean forward until the demon's throat is close to his mouth.

"Ready, Dean?" he whispers.

"Absolutely."

And once again, Sam cuts his brother's throat and swallows the dark, savory power that pours out. And then it doesn't matter what they just did, where they are, that they're naked in each other's arms. He's getting what he craves; he feels all of the good things demon blood does for him.

*

Not quite thirty-six hours later, Sam knocks on his brother's door and hears "It's not locked" as a response. He swallows hard, not wanting to go back into that room.

Dean puts a magazine face-down on the bed next to him and crosses his legs as Sam enters. The brothers study each other for a few seconds.

"Figured we should work a job instead of sitting on our asses waiting for Crowley," Sam finally says, deciding that he'd only get hustled again if he tries to get blood outright.

"Why?"

"Because it's our job. We're hunters."

" _You're_ a hunter."

"The deal is that we stick together. I found a job about four hours away. Probably a vamp."

"Meh."

"'Meh'? I thought you'd jump at the chance to go kill something."

Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Come again?"

Sam looks away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Are you coming or not?" he finally asks.

Dean gets off the bed and stands toe to toe with Sam.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm _coming_." The demon's eyes go black before he continues. "So is that a switchblade in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Before getting an answer, he slips his hand in Sam's pocket and wraps his hand around the switchblade. As he withdraws his hand, he brushes against Sam's dick through the layers of fabric.

"I'm not that thirsty," Sam says, just to spite Dean. It is true, incidentally, though he does want to drink. He takes the knife from Dean and pretends to ponder over something before opening it. Then he offers it back to Dean. "But, uh, why don't you cut your tongue for me?"

"Kinky. I like it." The demon sticks out his tongue and makes three deep cuts the long way, looking at Sam as if he was offering to give head.

Sam takes back his knife. Sucking blood from his brother's tongue is the only way he can think of to covertly make Dean shut up while he drinks. He doesn't allow it to go any farther.

*

The Winchesters soon learn that there is indeed a vampire stalking the citizens of a small Kansas town.

In their motel room, when Sam finds himself wanting to slit his brother's throat and suck his blood, he feels a little sick at himself. He's no better than a vampire with a blood slave.

Which makes him grateful when Dean says no.

*

Dean kills the vampire. As Sam expected, the demon shows signs of enjoying it maybe a little too much when he beheads the monster.

He breathes a sigh of relief as they drive away. The hunt was simple, and Dean didn't hurt anyone human.

He's less relieved, though, that he's so thirsty. The idea of sitting in the car next to a demon for four hours when he feels this desperate makes his skin crawl. It's only been two, three days, anyway. Why is it wearing off faster?

"Tell you what, Sammy, you can have a little blood now if you promise to pay me back when we get to the bunker. Then you can have more."

"What do you mean, pay you back?"

"Why are you even bothering to ask? You're gonna do it. But I'll give you a hint." Dean takes one hand off the steering wheel and sticks his middle finger into his mouth. He bites down on it until the scent of demon blood reaches Sam's nose. Then he offers his hand, folding all his fingers back except the longest.

Sam leans across the seat and licks the finger clean. He tries to suck more blood, but the wounds are already healed.

"Patience, young Skywalker," the demon laughs.

***

Castiel is driving to Lebanon, Kansas alone. Caroline, Hannah's vessel, has returned to her old life. He's started searching for Amelia and Claire Novak, who seem to have dropped off the radar since about 2009.

He wants the Winchesters' help. They'll do whatever they can to help, or at least they would if they were both human. Not having heard from Sam, let alone Dean, for weeks since they spoke on the phone, the angel is worried about what's befallen them. What if Dean found a way out of the deal and killed Sam? What if Sam was forced to kill his brother?

He never used to warn them when he dropped in. Traveling by car instead of with his wings is no reason to change that habit when the element of surprise might be an advantage.

*

The angel parks his car outside the entrance to the bunker, next to the Impala. He touches the shiny black hood. Warm. Whoever was in the car just returned.

He descends the concrete steps and tries the door next. It's unlocked, so he enters.

He finds himself on the balcony, looking down the stairs to the archway into the corridor.

The initial horror of seeing a demon's true face behind Dean's— _Dean's_ true face—throws Castiel long enough that he needs a full two seconds to realize what Sam is doing on his knees in front of the demon.

Dean is pressed against the wall, belt and jeans open, a hand on Sam's head as the human sucks his cock.

He looks up, eyes flicking to black to study the angel. Cas realizes then that Dean has never seen an angel's true face before. Surrendering to instinct, he fans out his wings slightly, lets the mutated, twisted soul observe his glory.

There's no indication of embarrassment, shame, horror, nor fear; the demon simply grins at Cas as he thrusts into Sam's mouth.

"You're so good, Sammy, with your mouth," he moans, still looking at Cas. "I shoulda made you do this weeks ago. Hell, years ago. ...Would you have sucked me off if I'd asked?"

Sam seems to give a reply, but Dean isn't satisfied.

"Say it, Sam."

Sam pulls off. He looks up at Dean, whose eyes are green again.

"You never would have asked, though."

"I wanna hear you say it."

The soft, reluctant reply is nearly inaudible to Castiel's vessel. To an angel with most of "his" grace, it's as loud as if it were spoken in his ear:

"Yes."

"Shit, it's hot hearing you say that." The hideous black smoke makes Dean's body groan as Sam takes him in his mouth again. Hand twisting the human's hair, he winks at Cas. "Can't wait to come in that mouth."

Cas clears his throat loudly, quite certain he should make his presence known.

Sam hears it and immediately tenses. He has to wait for Dean to release him to pull off and turn his head towards the sound.

When he sees Cas, he swears as he gets to his feet and backs away from Dean.

"Cas, it's- it's not- We can explain," he stammers as the angel descends, trying to cover the bulge in his pants casually with his hands.

"I'd like that," Castiel says dryly. He isn't sure what to think. It's the shock of seeing his two best friends engaged in such activities and the disgust of seeing a demon taking a human's dignity away that strike him the most.

Dean casually tucks himself away and zips up his jeans, buckles his belt.

"Sam and me, we just, uh... We're together. And that's that." His eyes are black again for a couple seconds as he observes Cas's true form.

"How did this happen?" Cas addresses Sam directly. He trusts nothing this demon says, even if it was once his best friend.

"It, uh..." Sam looks to his brother and they seem to have a silent conversation within a second or two. "It just sort of happened. Recently."

"Got a problem with it, Cas?"

"Not as long as Sam says it's consensual."

"It is." The human's face is red with humiliation but he manages to look Cas in the eye. "We're new to this but we both had free will going into it and we still do."

The angel feels a very human emotion as he looks between the Winchesters—a gut feeling that something is wrong. He chalks it up to Dean being a demon. And Sam... he seems different, but he must be stressed from living with a demon. They are made from pure hatred and evil; nothing about them can possibly make someone feel better. Except, Castiel admits to himself, sex, possibly. Maybe it's the best way for Sam to cope and Cas should be supportive.

"I'm not judging you based on your familial ties, if that's what you're worried about. My concern is simply the circumstances surrounding this new aspect of your relationship. I apologize for interrupting you."

"It's... fine. I guess," Sam responds eventually, blinking. "What- uh, what are you doing here?"

"I need your help in tracking down Amelia and Claire."

"Jimmy Novak's wife and kid? Um, sure. Whatever we can do."

The demon rolls his eyes and walks away, leaving Sam and Cas alone at the base of the stairs.

"I can't find anything about them later than 2009," Castiel says.

"That's the last time you saw them, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, well, um, do you mind if we get started in a few hours?"

"That's fine."

Face still flushed with embarrassment, Sam picks up a bag off the floor and brings it into the library. The angel follows, conscious of the awkward silence.

"Are you all right, Sam?"

"I'm fine. I mean... I've been better. Dean and me, we just got back from a hunt."

"Aren't you trying to find Crowley?"

"Yeah. We're keeping an eye out for him. But we didn't want to just sit here waiting around."

"...Sam, you seem different."

"What do you mean?" the human asks, defensive.

"I'm not sure. ...How long exactly have you been having relations with Dean?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"It's not related to your agreement, is it?"

"Agreement? Wh- Oh, you mean letting him stay a demon at least until we kill Crowley. No, this is different."

Castiel is quiet for a while and finally speaks his mind.

"Demons don't feel affection, Sam. What reason has Dean given for being interested in a relationship with you?"

"I know he doesn't love me, if that's where this is headed."

"What about you? What do you feel towards him?"

Sam swallows hard a couple times before answering:

"Well I think it's pretty obvious."

"What do you think is going to happen when Dean is human again?"

"If Dean is ever human again, we're just going to have to deal with the decisions we made."

"'If'?"

"When." Sam seems to bristle at the correction.

"Sam, if you're having regrets about this deal... I'm not bound by it. If you'd like my help in subduing Dean so we can cure him-"

"No. I made an agreement with my brother and I'm keeping it."

"He's not your brother."

"He's not the Dean we used to know, but I've been living with him for weeks. He's still my family."

The angel has no response to that.

"You seem better," Sam says, clearly making an effort to be cordial.

"I have new grace."

"What does that mean, that you're back?"

"No. But I still have several months if I don't do anything that saps my power."

"Maybe that will give us enough time to find a permanent solution."

"I only wish to live long enough to see Dean human again, without the Mark."

***

Sam locks his door when he retires to his room. He can't get over the fact that Cas walked in on him sucking Dean's dick and just _accepted_ their explanation. Falling onto the bed, he buries his face in his pillow. He wants to wake up when the world is different, or maybe not at all.

"Sam."

Sam turns over. Dean is standing at the foot of his bed.

The demon raises a finger to his lips. He's holding a small mason jar of what Sam assumes is human blood. With his finger he paints a couple sigils on the door and then sets the leftover blood on Sam's desk.

" _Now_ we can talk."

"Did you zap yourself in here to give me blood?"

"After you suck me off, yeah."

"I need it, Dean. I need it now. Please. You promised."

"You didn't finish me."

"Cas walked in on us!"

"Don't make excuses, Sam."

Sam gets off the bed and practically dives to his knees in front of the demon. He gets his brother's clothes out of the way just enough to take Dean's cock as far into his mouth as he can.

"You're such a slut, Sam. All for blood." Deceptively gentle fingers comb through his hair briefly.

Sam is complacent when Dean starts thrusting into his mouth. He just needs the blood so damn badly, giving a blowjob doesn't seem like a huge price to pay. If his throat hurts and his face is red from nearly gagging, it's fine. It's not that bad compared to other crap he's lived through. Like detoxing.

He keeps sucking and working his tongue over the flesh, flesh that's stiff and full of demon blood and he almost wants to bite down and break the skin because it's right there and he can _smell_ it.

Dean doesn't warn him before he comes in Sam's mouth.

Sam pulls off and digs a handkerchief out of his pocket. He spits his brother's come out and wipes his mouth.

"Spitters are quitters, Sam." The demon is zipping up his pants already.

"Give me your fucking knife."

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to bite me."

"Are you kidding?"

"Step right up, Sam." Dean tilts his head back and to the side and taps on his throat. "Sink your teeth into me."

The human rises and backs Dean up until he hits the wall. He presses his nose to his brother's neck, a fraction of a centimeter of skin and muscle separating him from his poison.

"Do it," the demon urges.

Sam opens his mouth and drags his teeth over the delicate skin he plans to destroy, closing his jaws slowly and pinching a little between his front teeth. He can't tell if he's more nervous or turned on by the idea.

"Bite me, Sammy."

Finally Sam positions his teeth around the pulsing jugular vein, and bites down. He keeps going, mentally cringing as he feels the raw flesh tearing in his mouth. Then the blood starts to spill out, streaming into his mouth. He gulps it down and a sense of calm starts to replace his thirst.

"Suck me, you  _vampire_ ," Dean tells him. He doesn't see the hurt that flickers over the human's face just before the demon reaches down to rub his cock through his pants.

This time, when Sam puts his hand on his brother's wrist, it's to encourage him.

*

"Sam, Dean!"

It's three days since Castiel arrived, and while Sam hasn't found Amelia or Claire, Cas has started helping out with keeping an eye on security cameras. By some miracle, he still seems to be unaware of Sam drinking Dean's blood.

The Winchesters poke their heads into the war room where Cas is.

"It's Crowley."

All three gather around the computer monitor. Crowley has just entered a bar in a state a few hundred miles away.

"What d'you say, Cas?" Dean says, "Want to help us take on the King of Hell?"


	6. Chapter V - Carmine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The term carmine is used in forensics, applied to descriptions of blood, because it's the same color as dried blood.
> 
> Canon continuity note: in this story, Sam and Dean never met Rowena, but all of the events between Crowley and Rowena before and during The Things We Left Behind (10x09) did occur.
> 
> One and a half years later: This fic became about 0.001% canon. I flipped out at the season 11 finale because the bar that Sam, Chuck, Crowley, Rowena, and Cas were at is almost exactly the bar I pictured when writing this chapter. Even the exterior is accurate. Go rewatch those scenes, turn the carpet red, and you will have it, complete with Crowley and Rowena sitting next to each other.

"We're ready to go when you are," the demon says to Castiel.

"Aren't you concerned that this might be a trap?"

"Could it be a trap? Yes. Am I concerned? No." Dean grins.

*

Sam, Dean, and Cas enter an oddly empty bar to find the King of Hell sitting at the counter, his back to the door. Next to him is a red-haired woman in a long black dress. With perfect symmetry, they swivel around on their barstools to face the new arrivals.

"An angel, a demon, and a moose walk into a bar..." Crowley greets, looking them over. "This could be a joke. May I introduce Rowena, my... vicereine."

"You didn't say we'd be _graced_ by an angel, Fergus," the woman says in a lilting Scottish accent.

Sam and Dean exchange a look of surprise as Crowley grinds his teeth.

"Plan's the same. Let's skip the foreplay."

Rowena frowns to herself for a moment before taking a small item out of her purse. She tosses it at Sam, who catches it automatically. She's already chanting Latin before he recognizes it as a hex bag.

He drops it and stumbles back, shaking his head, shutting his eyes against the heat and pressure building up in his skull.

Crowley is laughing at something, but Sam can't tell what. He's gasping in pain, unable to open his eyes if he even wanted to.

The pain vanishes and Sam blinks a few times, looking around. Castiel is burning the hex bag on the ground; Dean is looking up at a devil's trap painted on the ceiling in disgust. There are dozens of demons crowding the room. Though Sam is still reeling from the witchcraft, he keeps every demon still—Dean is stuck anyway—and starts to kill them one at a time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees horror and comprehension descend upon Castiel's face, even as the angel himself is smiting and stabbing demons. The King of Hell, in the meantime, doesn't seem too surprised though he and Rowena both look dismayed at how the fight is progressing. They're unable to flee.

It's over almost too quickly, cries of pain fading into silence as the battlefield becomes a crime scene. Bodies litter the floor, Crowley and Rowena are trapped, and the scents of sulfur and blood fill the air.

Cas is holding Rowena still with his power. He raises his angel blade and approaches her.

"Stop! Don't!"

The angel pauses, waiting for Crowley to elaborate.

"Sam," Crowley says, "That deal you made with Dean. It's been null for weeks."

"What?" Sam looks between his brother and the King of Hell. "Dean said-"

"Don't look so surprised, Moose. Your brother lied to you constantly long before he could do magic tricks with his eyes. There's nothing protecting you from his whims—or the Mark's. I've gone and trapped him for you, given you another chance to fix him. It's what we all want, isn't it? Why don't we four work together and then get back to our usual 'I'm going to kill you next time blah blah blah'' relationship status?"

"If you want him to 'fix' me, why'd you try to kill him?" Dean asks.

"No, no, dear," Rowena protests, "That was just to keep him from killing Fergus before hearing him out. He would have recovered... eventually."

Sam takes out his flask of demon blood. He stares at the shiny metal cap as he tries to reassess the last couple months.

Dean has been playing him. Sort of. They made a deal and they've been keeping it just like any two humans would. Dean intended to keep it and he did. He just wanted Sam to have a reason to trust him.

"Sam, are you not seeing what this is?" Crowley persists. "This was never about killing me. It's a cabal, a plot-"

"Shut up." Sam silences the demon while he unscrews the flask. He drains it quickly and closes his eyes, relishing the power throbbing in his veins. He can kill the King of Hell and he's fucking going to.

"Sam, your judgment is clouded." Cas sounds winded; he's used too much of his power. "You've been drinking Dean's blood from the start, haven't you? You can't make this decision. Crowley can be of _use_ to us."

"Why should I listen to you? You wanted me to betray Dean. If curing him was too hard, you'd just kill him. Hell, how do I know you won't try to kill him anyway?"

"Sam, your brother was my friend." The angel stares at him, bewildered and hurt by the suggestion. "I want him human. It's what he would want. Crowley is willing to assist us and if Dean were here-"

"I _am_ here."

"If the real Dean were here, he wouldn't want you to kill Crowley like this. He'd rather accept his help and kill him in a less questionable way."

Sam shakes his head. He can't trust Cas. He can't trust Crowley. He can trust Dean, a demon who kept a deal even when it was null, even when he had to fight the Mark's influence.

"I've wanted to do this since we met, Crowley. You've kept one step ahead of us all this time, found ways to make yourself useful, but your luck's run out. I don't _want_ my brother to be human. He's happy being a demon, and that's what's important to me."

"Not the demon blood and the power that comes with it? Not sex?" Cas presses. "Those aren't influencing your decision?"

Even silent, Crowley's reaction when he realizes what the angel just said is too much; Sam averts his eyes.

"For what it's worth," Dean puts in, "I think he can die happy now that you let that cat out of the bag. _Great_ job, Cas."

"We're done talking," Sam snaps before anyone else can speak. There's been enough standing around.

He holds out his hand and simply channels his power into the thought ' _Kill.'_ He marvels at how much easier it is than when he killed Lilith. But it's just as satisfying, because Crowley has hurt so many of the brothers's friends, and he made Dean accept the Mark that killed him, and he's just plain evil.

Cas's legs buckle under him and he releases Rowena. He collapses, panting.

Rowena studies the trapped demon, the exhausted angel, and the man holding the King of Hell hostage, then glances at Crowley. Sam braces himself for a fight, despairing at the idea of the demon escaping yet again.

"Carry on, _Samuel_ ," she says to him cheerily. "I've no opposition to inheriting the throne from my son."

She hops down from the barstool, picks up her purse, and walks out of the bar, reveling in the shock she's evoked.

Dean shrugs in response to Sam's questioning look. Castiel manages to marshal his strength and give chase, though in his state it won't be a fair fight.

Setting that matter aside, Sam refocuses on a horrified Crowley. Blood starts to stream from the demon's eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as yellow light flashes from within. Whatever demons have that can be called 'life' is being wrung out, and Sam will not stop twisting.

For the second time in the space of only minutes, Sam feels a sensation in his eyes. He ignores it since it's not pain. He hears a soft gasp from Dean.

He turns to look at his brother, who seems transfixed by Sam's face.

"What?"

"...Nothing."

Confused, Sam turns back to Crowley. His outstretched hand clenches in a fist and with a final burst of light he ends the demon like cutting a thread. His power over the meatsuit vanishes as the demonic entity within it ceases to exist; the limp corpse falls to the floor with a thump.

Crowley is finally dead.

Breathing hard, Sam takes a step back. He almost can't believe it. He looks to Dean, half-expecting a look of disapproval from his older brother.

Instead, there's admiration.

"I knew you could do it, Sam. Hell, you were even more awesome than I thought you'd be."

Without a word, Sam pulls out his gun and shoots the ceiling twice to break the devil's trap. It's a miracle he doesn't miss; he's blinking away tears at his brother's praise.

The instant he's able to, Dean closes the distance between himself and Sam. He whispers in his brother's ear.

"I think you should know... you with black eyes is the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"My- my eyes turned black?" A sick feeling washes over Sam, sweeping away his happiness.

"You would not believe how badly I want to fuck you right here and now." He hooks a finger on the waistband of Sam's jeans.

"Am I a-" Sam swallows and exhales nervously. "A demon?"

"No." The elder Winchester seems unhappy to admit it. He pulls back to look in Sam's eyes before continuing: "You're more than a human, though. A lot more."

 _More_ than a human. Not "less." Not "different" from a human. Dean said "more."

The demon kisses Sam gently on the lips.

"This is good, Sam."

"No, it's not," Cas says from the doorway. It's clear just from his expression that Rowena escaped. He makes his way to the bar to lean on it while he addresses Sam and Dean. "It's over, Sam. Crowley is dead. You were going to cure Dean as soon as that was done. You have to. You're not useful to him anymore, you can't turn your back for a second. He has no reason to let you live."

"Really, Cas?" Dean responds, "I'd say you're the one we can't turn our backs to.  _I_ kept the deal we made even after Crowley destroyed it, but you tried to get Sam to go back on his word. Which one of us seems more trustworthy after that? How do we know you won't want to kill both of us now that Sam's a little dark-side? And what the hell is that shit about 'useful'? Sam doesn't need to be useful to me. He doesn't need to prove his worth."

Cas looks between the Winchesters. He saw Sam's expression both when the angel implied Dean was only using him and when Dean refuted the idea; he has to get out of the hole he's dug.

"He's twisting the truth, Sam. Can't you see that?"

Something fierce and possessive stirs within Sam. Castiel wants to change Dean, force upon him guilt, sorrow, pain, and a hundred other things Dean has had more than enough of in his life. He wants to stop Sam from drinking demon blood. Cas is more than untrustworthy—he's a threat.

"Look, it's none of your business what we do. As long as-"

Sam cuts himself off when Dean marches up to Cas and grabs him the lapels, rough and belligerent.

"You could've broken that devil's trap right away, Cas. I could've gotten a few kills in. I could have stopped that bitch but instead, she's in the wind. I had to just stand there and watch. Now? There's only two other living things in here. And Sam is off-limits."

"Wait, Dean, what are you saying?" Sam's alarmed; he doesn't want their former ally dead, just to leave them alone.

"Why shouldn't I kill him? He's dying already."

"He was one of your best friends! You can't kill Cas!"

"Huh," Dean scoffs. "Watch me."

With that, Dean slams the angel's head against the counter. Holding Castiel up by the front of his shirt, the demon begins to pummel his victim, unaffected by attempts to physically pull him away, unmoved by Sam's entreaties to stop. 


	7. Chapter VI - Maroon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maroon, if you're referring to the color, comes from the French word for chestnut, _marron_. However, this etymology is unrelated to that of the verb that means "to abandon and leave without resources."
> 
> For anyone who is potentially triggered by one or more of the Additional Tags I have on this story, this is a chapter to look out for. (Because it's subtle, I don't want to say it outright, but if you read the tags you'll be able to guess and judge for yourself.)

Desperate to stop the ferocious animal his brother has become, Sam tries to paralyze Dean with his power. He feels a burst of pain, like his head is being split open.

He flashes back to Ruby's words after killing Lilith: _"You shot your payload on the boss."_

Dean does feel something, though, and he pauses the beating. He whirls around, fingers still curled in a reddened fist.

" _What_ , Sam?!" Dean snarls.

"Please don't kill Cas."

"Then what's your plan? Take him back home, heal him up so he can try to kill us the second we turn our backs?"

Sam tugs the demon a few steps away, taking in Cas's injuries. They look bad but it's nothing he and Dean haven't patched up themselves.

"Cas, can you hear me...? I'll call 911, but after that we're leaving. I don't want you anywhere near my brother."

"Sam-" the angel begins, lifting his bruised and bloody head slightly.

"Don't come knocking. Goodbye, Castiel."

*

Back at the bunker, just five minutes later Sam is debating whether to ask Dean to take him back. How could he just leave Cas alone there, even with paramedics on the way?

"I can practically hear you thinking, Sam. Quit worrying," Dean says. He adds, half-awkwardly, "You did the right thing."

"Where are we going?" the human asks, knowing full well where Dean is leading him.

"I already told you how your having black eyes made me feel." They're still a couple doors away from Dean's room when the demon loses patience and pushes Sam up against the wall of the corridor. He spreads his hands over Sam's chest. There's an abrupt change of mood. "...You don't know what the Mark is like, Sam. I'm always fighting it. Every second."

"Dean..."

"Don't worry. Just because there's no official agreement doesn't mean we can't play nice. I won't hurt you."

"We should still find a way to remove it, if it's a problem."

"I don't need to kill to keep it in check, Sam." Dean pulls the jacket from Sam's shoulders and tosses it aside. "Not literally."

"Are you saying you need this?" Sam asks, just above a whisper.

Dean breaks eye contact under the premise of unbuttoning Sam's shirt.

"I want you to have this if it helps you, Dean."

"I wanna fuck you real hard, Sam. It's going to hurt you. But I'll only do it if you say it's okay."

"Do it. Fuck me hard as you need."

Dean practically tears Sam's clothes off after hearing the invitation. He sheds his own clothes, kissing Sam hard, pressing him against the wall until it's hard to breathe.

"I'm gonna take you right now."

If Sam was getting turned on by the warm friction of Dean's body, the idea of having something shoved in his ass as-is works like having a bucket of ice water dumped over him. The demon is nipping at his throat, breathing hot against Sam's skin as he continues.

"It'll hurt. It'll bleed."

It's what Dean needs, something that he can provide. It's protecting other people.

"Okay."

Without further ado, Dean drags Sam down into the kitchen, the nearest open door. He shoves everything off the shiny island counter and pushes Sam until he's bent over the metal surface.

Sam spreads his legs and grips the opposite edge of the counter. He tries his best to relax his body as Dean starts to push inside, but it's impossible. It burns and stings, being forced open, and he can just tell when he's started bleeding. He's too tight; Dean is taking forever to work his way in.

He's blinking back tears by the time his brother's cock is fully inside him.

Dean does fuck him harder than he should. Sam closes his eyes tight and focuses on not making any sound. The metal warms under him. His palms are sweating and his fingers slipping. There is zero pleasure. It's okay. He's not doing this for himself, for demon blood; he's doing this for Dean.

At last, Dean pulls out and finishes by coming on Sam. A drop of what Sam imagines is blood rolls down his inner thigh.

"Come on, Sam, don't you want anything for yourself?" the demon asks, caressing Sam's back.

Sam shakes his head. He attempts to straighten up and his legs are weak under him. Dean catches him.

"I was too rough, wasn't I?" he asks as he props up the younger man.

"I'll be fine."

"Let me make it up to you." Pulling Sam closer, back to front, Dean reaches around and begins to stroke his brother. The fingers of his left hand splay over Sam's chest, protecting him from some nameless threat. With occasional light kisses he brings Sam to completion.

The second he can walk without Dean's assistance, Sam leaves the kitchen. It hurts to move so instead of bending down to gather up his clothes in the hallway he just heads for the shower.

*

Once Sam is done cleaning himself up, he heads straight for his room. It's not even nighttime, but he feels the need to retreat. He doesn't get it; nothing bad really happened. He killed Crowley. No archangels or Leviathans or demons were released into the world. Some witch is going to try to run Hell now, but she'll probably be easier to take out than Crowley was.

Other than Azazel, Crowley was the longest-livest adversary they've had. Lilith, Lucifer, Dick Roman, Abaddon, Metatron—all of them were brought down or killed within a year or two. Crowley's been floating around near the top of their hit list since before they threw Lucifer back into the Cage.

The world is going to be different, he realizes, without the King of Hell. Better, probably.

Aching and stiff, Sam gets into bed and wraps the blankets around his body. It doesn't seem right that he feels so defeated and small. He never said no to Dean roughing him up.

What now? Dean is happy being a demon. Sam himself is satisfied drinking his brother's blood, even if he does have to get fucked in the ass to get it sometimes—it's not _every_ time. And now, he even knows that it's helping Dean. The demon is probably amenable to do at least a little hunting, if only to sate his Mark-induced bloodlust. Willing as Sam is to let Dean use him, there are things out there that need killing. Things could sort of be the way they were before Dean was a demon.

What Dean said to Cas— _"Sam doesn't need to be useful to me. He doesn't need to prove his worth."_ —keeps repeating in Sam's head. Logically, Sam had known that was true for years, but he hadn't always felt it. Often, there had been a nagging feeling that he wasn't quite good enough for Dean, that he should be doing more to earn his keep. What his demonized brother said couldn't erase that in one fell swoop, but it was more than Dean had said as a human in a long time. He's overall less judgmental now, in fact.

In some ways, things might be better with Dean a demon, Sam tells himself.

*

"No. No hunting."

"Dean-"

"We've done enough hunting. We are officially retiring."

"Hunters don't retire, they die. ...I mean, you _d id_ die, but point is, the Mark is still having an effect. Hunting would be good for you."

"If you say so. If you find a job, we'll check it out, but I'm not going out of my way to hunt. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam nods. "What about Rowena?"

"If she's a problem, we'll take care of her. If not, we let her run Hell until some other demon snuffs her."

*

The next night, Dean insists on going out to celebrate Crowley's death. With some reluctance Sam goes with him to a bar not too far from the bunker. They play pool and lose count of how many drinks they've had. Sam ignores the pain in his ass.

It feels like the first time in years that they played pool together without trying to hustle anyone, that they played purely for fun.

Sam starts to get in a good mood, only for it to be broken by the way Dean is eyeing a woman at the bar. She's not as attractive as Dean used to go for. Maybe a demon's standards are lower.

"I'll be back in... twenty minutes," Dean says, winking at Sam as he sets down his cue stick.

Sam watches his brother buy the brunette a drink, confused and numb. The pair flirts for about five minutes before they're leaving.

The younger Winchester feels strange. Dean was having sex with him less than thirty-six hours ago. Sam didn't enjoy it; he'd rather not have that experience again, but it was still something between _them_. Something he was giving to Dean. Something Dean is sharing with a stranger.

Sam almost follows them out the door. He just knows they're going to go around the corner and fuck right there outside. He could watch.

No. Why the hell would he want to watch? Sam shakes his head. He needs more beer. This is good; it means more time for his body to recover.

*

A little over a week later, Sam is staring at his phone, hesitating. He should call Cas, check on him.

"Time to get going, Sam," Dean says, purposely jostling him enough to knock the phone out of his hand.

They're investigating two suspicious deaths in a medium-sized town in Missouri. People exploding in a spray of pink slime, clothes and all. Dean says it's the same M.O. as a certain kind of angel—a Rit Zien. He took one down with Cas over a year ago.

Armed with angel blades, Sam and Dean have found a way to lure out the angel whose name means "hands of mercy."

Some holy oil, a lighter, and a few Enochian symbols and sentences later, they have the angel trapped.

"What's your name?"

"Zipporah." The angel sees Dean then. Her mouth opens in surprise before she collects herself. "...So it's true. Dean Winchester is a demon."

Dean's eyes flash black, as if he wants to intimidate her.

"You should be more worried about yourself," he tells her. "Look, I know the story: when somebody's in pain, you put them down. You say you're doing them a favor. But nobody asked you."

"We're giving you a chance to go back to Heaven. We won't hurt you," Sam says.

The angel seems to be genuinely considering it.

Her vessel, as Sam and Dean had learned in the past thirty-six hours, was reported missing six days ago. Sam interviewed her husband, although the interior of the house was more informative than the distraught man had been—there were enough crosses and crucifixes adorning the walls that it verged on discomforting. The stay-at-home mother of four was definitely the type to let an angel possess her.

"I'm not interested in returning to Heaven," Zipporah says finally. "I like it here on Earth. I want to end suffering. It's my job."

"You're causing suffering for the families of the people you're murdering."

"That pain is temporary. I end the pain of those who are going to suffer for the rest of their lives."

Suddenly Dean leaps over the flames. He's plunging the shining blade into the angel's chest before Sam can object or try to stop him. Bluish-white light shines from the vessel's mouth and eyes as the angel perishes.

"What the hell, Dean?!"

The demon lets the corpse fall to the ground. He jumps back over the flames before responding.

"Give me a break, Sam. I've been going crazy ever since you stopped me from killing Cas."

"I thought you were managing it."

"Nothin' like the real thing, Sam. I can't always control myself."

"We could have found a way to take her grace," Sam muses aloud. "Cas wouldn't have been happy but if you needed to kill her, some good could have come out of it."

Dean scoffs as he starts kicking dirt onto the flames.

"He wants to kill us, Sam. We're better off with him dead."

The human disagrees, but he can't give a logical answer as to why. Maybe Dean is right.

Sam is having difficulty concentrating these days. He still hasn't had any demon blood since killing Crowley. The cravings are starting to eat at him, but Dean hasn't offered blood, with or without sex. There's always the option to simply cut Dean, hold him still while he drinks, but even without armistice that's out of the question for Sam. It's his brother.

*

Not twelve hours later, Dean is picking up another girl at another bar. Fourth one this week. Sam can't stand it and walks back to the motel. The demon sees the look on his face as Sam leaves, but ignores it, turning his attention back to the woman he's bought several drinks for already.

His brother returns to the motel room not long after Sam does—it was a long walk for Sam and probably a quick fuck for Dean—and immediately picks up on the younger man's bad mood.

"What's up, Sam?" Dean sits across from him at the table and with one finger pushes the lid of Sam's laptop down.

"Nothing. I'm fine." It's the knee-jerk response, and Dean knows it.

"You upset because I killed that angel?"

"No."

"Because of Cas?"

"No."

"Then what's got you acting like a kid who didn't get his Christmas presents?"

Sam sighs and looks away. Finally he meets his brother's eyes.

"I think you know."

"What, those chicks?"

"Yeah, Dean, 'those chicks.'"

"You jealous?" Dean teases.

"No, I just thought... maybe... what we had was something more?"

The demon leans forward.

"Hey, I'd _love_ it to be something more, Sam. We already talked about this: a guy's got needs. But you won't put out. Even when you do, you aren't into it. Those girls don't mean anything, Sam. They're just fillers. I wouldn't need them if, y'know..."

Sam grinds his teeth a little as he thinks it over. Is his brother blaming him? He tenses when Dean stands up and walks around to behind Sam's chair. He rubs Sam's shoulders without a word until the human relaxes again. Finally Sam breaks the silence.

"Dean... you're a demon."

Dean waits for his brother to continue.

"You can't care about me the way I care about you."

"...No," Dean admits. He explains in a soothing voice: "Demons still have preferences. I want to sex you up more than I want to fuck some girl. I want to give you demon blood, to keep things balanced, safe. Fucked up as it seems, this is better than what we had before. Come on. Let me show you."

The younger man lets Dean lead him toward the bed. Then the demon backs a couple steps away.

"Take off your clothes, Sam. Slowly."

Sam unbuttons his shirt—Dean's eyes following his fingers every step of the way—and lets it fall from his shoulders onto the floor. Most of his skin is still covered, but his face and ears are burning as he takes off his shoes and socks. He removes his undershirt and forces himself to meet his brother's eyes as he unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper of his jeans. He lets the denim fall to his ankles before stepping out of them.

For the first time, Sam feels aroused without any demon blood. Maybe he's not attracted to Dean, yet, but it's like hearing dirty-talk or watching porn. He can't exactly help it.

He strips off his underwear and finally he's standing naked, mostly hard, and a little shy in front of his brother. He wants something, but he's not sure what.

"See, you're having fun already," the demon says before tossing a small item to Sam—lube. "On the bed. Get yourself ready to take me."

Sam gets on the bed, on his knees.

"Show me, Sam. Let me see you opening up that hole for my cock."

Blushing even harder, Sam bends over, does his best to give Dean a show as he lubes up one finger and pushes it in. For long minutes, he stretches himself with one finger, then two, then three.

Dean's voice is much closer than Sam expected when the demon speaks again:

"Turn around, Sam. I wanna see it while you're touching that sweet spot. And nothing else."

The picture of obedience, Sam faces his brother, still on his knees. Dean is standing next to the bed naked, just watching him.

Even with an audience, even when the demon seems to be secretly judging him, Sam thinks he could come untouched from this. It's almost pure pleasure coursing through him.

It helps, maybe, that it's a distraction from how much he wants Dean's blood.

Abruptly, Dean stills Sam's hand.

"That's enough." He leans down and kisses the human quickly before getting on the bed. Lying on his back, Dean takes the lube and slicks himself up. "Ride me, Sammy."

Sam moves to straddle Dean, facing him.

"No, no, Sam, turn around. I wanna see that ass getting split in two by my cock." At Sam's expression, Dean sighs. "That's not making me want to look at your face."

Silently, Sam maneuvers himself the way Dean wants until he's able to sink down, secretly grimacing at the intrusion. He can make this feel good, he tells himself. He's on top; he's in charge.

The demon's warm hands stroke Sam's hips.

"Next time, I think I'll take a picture of you like this. 'S'fucking hot."

"I don't want you to take pictures of me."

"Are you gonna fuck me or not?" the demon asks, sounding irritated.

Forcing his mouth shut, Sam starts to move, soon finding an angle and rhythm that actually feels good. Dean rolls his hips while digging his nails into the pale skin of his brother's thighs.

Wordless moans from both of them grow louder; breathing gets heavier. Sam has to admit that he likes this. The sensations are still unfamiliar but the taboo of incest has mostly faded. He's ready to get off on his brother's cock and enjoy it.

As if he's guessed Sam's thoughts, Dean grabs the human's wrists.

"I'll finish you when it's time," he pants, "Promise."

Sam doesn't complain or beg; he just keeps going. Soon enough, Dean tenses under him and comes, with a loud cry of " _Fuck!_ "

As Sam pulls off, he realizes that he's not happy it's over. He's happy that he helped Dean again, even if it was uncomfortable at first. That revelation itself makes him smile.

Before he knows it, he's on his back with Dean over him.

"You were so good, Sam," the demon murmurs. "I think you deserve something a little better than my hand." Dean moves down until his mouth is right above Sam's cock. He gives a predatory smile before opening his mouth and licking it from base to head.

"God," Sam breathes.

"That's right, Sammy, just lie back and lemme make you feel good." With that, Dean starts to suck him, hard.

He slows down when Sam gets close, but it still seems to end far too soon, Sam climaxing hard and Dean waiting until he comes down from his high to pull off and swallow. He looks Sam in the eye as he does it, challenging him for next time.

The next thing the demon does is kiss Sam deeply, the taste of Sam's come strong in his mouth. There's another flavor or scent present, that Sam can't quite place at first.

"I don't know," Dean says as he lies down next to Sam, pulling the blanket over them before putting an arm around the younger brother, "why we don't get a king instead of two queens."

Instead of answering, Sam is preoccupied with the question of why that other taste in Dean's mouth is bothering him.

A sick revelation occurs. Sam turns on his side away from Dean, body tensing in effort not to just get out of the bed entirely. He hears a soft sound of exasperation. Rather, feels it through the warm arm keeping him close.

"What now?"

"I bet you had her do the same thing."

"Who?"

"You told her to take off her clothes slowly. You had her ride your dick and afterwards you went down on her."

The demon's thumb strokes Sam's skin.

"I didn't want to. I wouldn't have."

"Why did you do it, then?"

"Because I thought you weren't going to give it to me. You didn't let me know."

"So you're saying it's my fault you fucked her."

"I'm saying it didn't have to happen. You were acting like you didn't want me." Dean pauses before giving the ultimatum: "If you say no when I ask you for it, I won't fuck you. If you say yes, I won't have to sleep around."

Sam turns over to look at his brother's face.

"I want you. I don't know how much I want you physically, but I want my brother."

"I don't want to sleep with you if you're just lying there taking it. I'd rather fuck some skank who likes it rough and pretend it's you."

"I wasn't just lying there."

"No." The demon smiles. "You were awesome. That's exactly what I was talking about, Sam, what I need from you. Loved hearing it when you were fucking yourself on my cock. Gonna be thinking of that if I ever have to fuck a girl again."

"You won't," Sam promises, so fast it's like one breathless word.

Dean smiles and kisses him on the cheek.

"Good."

So close to the demon, Sam is dying to ask to open up a vein and drink. But it doesn't seem right to ask that of Dean right now. Besides, it's not too bad yet, the very first stages of detox. He can make it another day before he's truly desperate.


	8. Chapter VII - Puce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puce is the French word for "flea." It's said to be the color of bloodstains remaining on bedsheets, even after being washed, from a flea's droppings or after a flea is crushed. (Which is remarkably disgusting for such a classy color.)  
> Another warning for the subtle potential trigger. Also, the sex gets a little kinkier in this chapter, ~~which is, as you may have noticed, the concluding chapter~~.

Castiel never quite loses consciousness throughout the ordeal. The demon that was once Dean clobbering him, Sam stopping it but then backing away. Made a phone call, hung up, and was gone.

He slumps to the floor and dimly notes the passage of time before he hears sirens, and finally sees police officers and paramedics burst through the door. Expressions of shock and dismay at the bodies strewn around the room abound. Two EMTs are at his side within seconds.

They're examining his injuries, gently asking him questions, and soon enough there's a stretcher.

It's all a blur until they get him to the ER. At that point he simply lapses into unconsciousness.

He used up too much grace transporting himself hundreds of miles, smiting demons, and defending himself from something Rowena did that he hadn't even known witches were capable of. It's better to let the hospital keep his human body alive and try to muster up what strength he has left.

Finally the angel awakens long enough to think. The only thing on his mind is how to remove both the Mark and Dean's influence over Sam. If Cain will not take it back, who or what has the power to remove the Mark? God? God, real or fake, isn't going to help. Cas's thoughts lead to Metatron and what he was capable of powered by the angel tablet. How he was overthrown despite having won over most every angel.

A week passes before Cas is both coherent and possessing of an idea worth telling Sam about. He asks to make a phone call and dials the first of Sam's numbers that comes to mind. All he can hope is that the human will be able to talk without his brother overhearing.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and rings...

***

Back in the bunker, while cleaning up after breakfast Sam thinks he might be hearing his phone ring. He left it somewhere; he can't remember. Maybe the library.

He heads there to find his brother holding the phone in question.

"Did I miss a call?"

"Nope," Dean says. "I was bored, felt like checking your ringtone." He sets the device down on the table and spreads his warm hand over Sam's chest. He studies the human's face. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." The scent of Dean's blood is mouth-watering. Sam takes a breath. "I'm gonna go look for another job. Staying cooped up in here working out and watching _Game of Thrones_ is gonna get old fast."

"Maybe we should work out together." The elder brother leans in to deliver a light kiss on the lips.

"You need to?"

"Nah." Dean scoffs ever so slightly. "It's just your face when I touch you like this, your eyes. You're still thinking of me as your big brother."

"You _are_ my brother."

"Not the one who would flip out on you for doing the best you could. That's the one you're thinking of. I told you a long time ago, Sammy. You gotta let go of the idea that you might have to face the old me someday. He's gone. There's just you and the new me, and I promise, Sam, what we have now is only gonna get better."

*

Usually when they were running low on supplies, Sam or Dean would head to the store alone. It was weird going together—people thought they were a couple rather than brothers. And now they're both.

Today, however, Dean insists on going with Sam while they do the incredibly mundane task of grocery shopping.

"I'm bored, Sam," he explains.

They head to the tiny grocery store in the middle of town—it's a Friday so it's actually busy—and grab a basket. They wander through the aisles grabbing whatever they notice they need.

Sam is irritable and impatient, trying to ignore his brother whom he'd been looking forward to being away from. The more he craves it, the stronger the scent seems to be. Blood, blood, blood, _blood_.

They're turning the corner into the canned foods aisle, Sam ahead of his brother, when he hears Dean inhale sharply. He turns, instinctively knowing exactly what the sound means, before realizing what a mistake it is.

Dean is clutching at his left hand, trying to cover a fresh gash. The smell is overpowering; there's demon blood all over his hands.

Sam trembles, unable to move. He needs it. He wants to start sucking and licking and swallowing the crimson fluid so badly there are tears in his eyes.

"Whoa, man, are you okay?" another customer asks, seeing Dean's wound.

"I'll be fine," Dean says, putting on a polite smile. He gestures with his head to the end of the metal shelves. "Just cut myself on that corner there by accident. No big deal."

"Are you sure? Looks like you might need stitches."

"Nah, it looks worse than it is."

"Are _you_ okay?" the stranger asks Sam, noticing his paleness.

Sam blinks and tears his gaze away from the intoxicating sight before him. He's either going to freak this person out or make them think he's a complete wuss.

Dropping the shopping basket, he shakes his head and backs away.

"I'll be in the car," he whispers to Dean as he turns. He practically runs out of the store.

In the car, Sam rests his face in his hands while he waits for his brother to come out. So close, so close to losing it in front of half a dozen people.

Dean exits the store with a couple shopping bags, a bandage on his hand. He slides in behind the wheel and puts the bags on the backseat. There's a dangerous silence about him.

"Did you have to run out on me like that?" the demon asks curtly as he removes the bandage. There's nothing but perfect, clean skin underneath.

"I didn't want to make a scene."

"You already were making a scene," Dean says, voice cutting like a knife.

"Dean, I was about to start sucking your blood in front of a bunch of people."

"Well I couldn't just heal myself with that guy watching. That would have freaked 'em all out just as much."

"I'm sorry," the human says when the angry silence gets too heavy. He doesn't know why Dean is so pissed about something beyond their control, but an apology never hurts.

His brother's expression does not soften.

*

Dean's silent treatment ends only after they're back in the bunker.

"Sam, I'm... sorry," he says, words unfamiliar in his mouth as they put away their purchases. "You just- you left me alone. What if someone had looked at me the wrong way and you weren't there to stop me?"

Sam's face feels hot with shame. Dean's right. If something had happened after Sam left, he would have been beating himself up about it forever.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm sorry. I won't leave you again."

The demon gives a grateful smile. Then it turns prurient, suggestive.

"What do you say to changing things up a little, Sam?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come to my room in, oh, five minutes, and I'll show you."

*

Sam knocks on his brother's bedroom door.

"Dean?"

The door opens and immediately Dean is kissing him, pulling Sam into the room and closer to the bed. Their clothes are shed quickly and before Sam knows it he's being shoved down onto the bed. He's lying on his back and the demon is crawling up over his body to lavish him with attention.

"You know, Sam, this isn't just sex for me," Dean admits. "Well, it is sex, but it's different with you. I've fucked dozens of girls and guys since I became a demon. Hell, I've done some things with Crowley you don't wanna think about. None of them felt anything like you."

"What's different?" Sam blinks a few times, trying not to picture his brother with the late King of Hell.

The demon pauses like he's trying to put it into words for the first time.

"Everybody else is just... friction. But you feel good, Sam. You're the only one who makes me enjoy sex. I need you, because I can't get this from anyone else."

 _Need._ Sam tugs his brother closer, shutting his eyes to take it in. His brother still needs him, enough to say it out loud.

The moment passes quickly. The demon pulls away, smooths Sam's hair back.

"So how'd you like to feel me riding you?" he asks.

"Shit, yes," the human murmurs, hands running over his brother's body. "Please."

"You miss fucking a pussy, don't you?"

"A little," he dares to admit.

"Well maybe this'll help." Dean pulls away and shuffles down until he can take Sam into his mouth, not to pleasure him but coat his dick in spit.

"Dean-"

"Don't worry about my ass, Sam. It won't hurt me much and I can heal up as soon as we're done."

Sam's mouth goes dry as his brother turns around to straddle his hips and take his hard wet cock in hand.

"Ready?"

Dean turns to look behind his shoulder when Sam doesn't answer right away. Swallowing, the human nods quickly.

Without further ado, Dean seems to relax his body even more and then sinks down, taking in his brother's dick with ease.

It's so goddamn tight Sam wonders if this is hurting him more than it's hurting Dean.

He hasn't gotten past the initial feel of being sheathed inside a body for the first time in more time than he cares to think about before the demon starts to move, riding him like his existence depended on it.

Sam's eyes close and he grips hot flesh in his hands as he takes in the sensations of Dean fucking himself on his cock. So good. He gasps and groans and hisses swears as Dean takes him higher.

Abruptly, his growing physical pleasure takes a back seat as something far more important hits Sam's senses.

First, the scent. Metallic, warm, slightly sulfuric. His eyes snap open.

When Dean rises up, it's visible on Sam's cock: streaks of rusty red.

Demon blood.

And then, when the demon sinks down again, Sam feels how it's becoming easier sliding into Dean's hole. The new lubricant isn't precome alone.

Sam wonders if the demon blood is really burning him or if it's just in his imagination because he craves it so badly. More and more of it coats his hard flesh and he could just reach quickly and wipe some off with his finger, lick it clean, but Dean didn't say he could.

He closes his eyes as he nears climax. Dean's body feels so good and Sam has wasted this precious time to create memories with his preoccupation. When is he ever going to feel like this again, this cocktail of desperation and near-orgasm that's making him shout with whatever emotion it is he's feeling? Euphoria, agony, something between...

He's yelling Dean's name, a second or two away from coming, when the demon lifts his hips further to pull off completely, leaving Sam without the slightest friction.

He makes a wordless expression of confusion at Dean.

Blood trickles down his brother's inner thigh, just as precome is running down Sam's cock.

Dean is inching backwards, closer to Sam's face. He whispers six words:

"You need it, Sam? Take it."

Sam grabs the demon's ass and yanks it towards his own face. Blood. The blood matters far more than where it's coming from. He laps up the blood on Dean's leg first, then tugs his cheeks apart and runs his tongue right up to Dean's hole. Where blood is still leaking out.

The taste hitting his tongue is one thing, powerful in more ways than one, but it's the feeling of regained ability, a second after he first tastes his brother's blood, that strikes Sam to the core. He comes untouched, moaning into Dean's body as he sucks and swallows.

It's hard to tell, but Sam thinks the demon laughs a little. That's fine. There's not much he won't endure as long as he can keep drinking blood right now. He plunges his tongue deep into Dean, searches for more blood.

His brother is moaning above him, getting as much out of it as Sam is, and all Sam can think is how perfect it is that he can have this while helping Dean.

The blood seems to be disappearing without being replaced; Dean must have healed himself. Sam continues to lick and suck, to make sure there's nothing he's missed, until his brother cries out and comes on Sam's chest.

Panting, Dean moves away and eventually ends up lying next to Sam, laying his head on the same pillow.

"Feel better?"

"I want more blood," Sam confesses.

Without looking away, Dean reaches behind him and finds something on his nightstand. He brings it to his mouth—a pocketknife.

It hits Sam then that his favorite way to drink Dean's blood is this. A deep cut in the tongue, dark red welling up to fill their mouths as they kiss. Other ways may be more efficient or convenient, but this is what he loves.

Dean barely has the knife out of the way before his mouth is seized by Sam's. It's like melting into each other as they kiss for long, comforting minutes.

*

Another week, another possible hunt. Just by the news article and police report, Sam smells a witch. Begrudgingly, Dean agrees to work the job with him.

They're almost positive they know who the witch is. There's just one question that can be cleared up with a simple phone call to another hunter.

"Hey, Ericka, it's Sam."

"Winchester?" The woman's voice jumps an octave.

"Yeah, Sam Winchester. Do you have a minute?"

She does, but her replies to Sam's questions are short and she seems anxious, even over the phone. Finally Sam can't ignore it anymore.

"Are you alright?"

There's a silence and finally the hunter speaks in a rush of nervous words, voice getting higher with every sentence:

"It's nothing. It's just, no one has seen or heard from you in weeks, and last we knew, you were looking for your brother. In the past couple days, some weird rumors have popped up, but it's stupid to believe shit you overhear in the roadhouse, isn't it?"

Skin crawling, Sam has to ask:

"What kind of rumors?"

"Um. Well. What I've heard is, you and your brother killed a powerful demon with some crazy-ass demon sex mojo."

Unable to speak, Sam can't even try to hang onto his phone when Dean snatches it from his hand.

"Hey. Ericka, right? Listen, whatever's going around, ain't what went down. My brother killed the King of Hell on his own. The fact that I've got black eyes and I'm fucking him has nothing to do with how he did it."

Sam's mouth drops open while his brother's spreads in a smile. It's obvious the other hunter hung up. The demon gives the phone back.

"What the fuck, Dean?!"

"What were you gonna say to her?"

"I don't know, but not that!"

"It was too late, Sam. Damage was done. Might as well set the record straight for everybody."

The younger man sighs and shakes his head. They're fucked. Somehow, Rowena has already gotten the word out.

He doesn't want to think about this. He looks up at his brother. Dean is always receptive to distraction.

They don't need words to have a conversation; it's all understood. Sam gets up from the table and then drops to his knees in front of the demon.

"So good for me, Sammy," his brother whispers, stroking Sam's hair while the human unbuckles his belt and opens up his jeans.

*

Sam looks at his calendar. It's been three weeks since he killed Crowley and abandoned Castiel in that bar. He has to find out what's happened to his friend.

First he tries calling Cas's phone. It goes straight to voicemail. Must be turned off.

Then he googles "bodies found at bar in chicopee, illinois" and narrows the results to news articles published in the past two and a half weeks. The first result, with the headline DOZENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL BAR has exactly the information he wants: "an unidentified male was transported to Chicopee General Hospital where he is in stable condition."

It's not too difficult to hack into CGH's database. After that, it's a simple matter of finding the right records. A John Doe with injuries consistent with being physically beaten with a fist had been admitted.

The log is simple: Castiel recovered at a slow but steady rate for about a week. Soon enough he was fully conscious and able to talk and walk around a little. He identified himself as "Clarence Cas." (Sam smiles when he reads that.)

As Sam's eyes hit the next few lines, he wishes desperately that he were a slower reader. Or that Dean would walk in. Or just that something would happen to stop him from reading the words in front of him.

The patient's condition deteriorated rapidly after he was hit with an antibiotic-resistant infection. His immune system was weak for no reason they could detect; nothing they did helped.

_Time of death: 11:47 AM on 2014-09-30_

Five days ago.

With trembling hands, Sam closes the laptop and pushes it away. He folds his hands and bows his head, closing his eyes.

"Castiel, if you can hear me... you gotta let me know that you're alive. Me or Dean. Please tell one of us that you're not gone for good."

He simply sits there, silent and defeated and a little nauseated. If he and Dean hadn't made Cas come with them, this wouldn't have happened. If they'd gotten Cas back to the bunker, they might have found a way to keep him alive that the doctors at the hospital couldn't. Maybe they could have gotten that angel's grace for him.

How did all this happen? He was so wrapped up in Dean, in demon blood, in sex, he let time pass and now Castiel is dead.

"Hey." Dean is standing next to Sam suddenly. "What's up?"

"Cas is dead."

"Oh."

"'Oh'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I thought- I thought you'd care a little more."

Dean scoffs, a bemused smile on his lips.

"Me? Giving a fuck what happened to the guy?"

"You care about me, don't you? You cared about Cas, too, when you were human."

"What did I ever do to make you think I cared about Cas half as much as I care about you?"

Sam shrugs. Inside him is a mix of warmth from feeling important to Dean, and the cold knowledge that yet another of their friends is dead.

"You need something from me, little brother?" the demon asks. The question struggles to pierce through Sam's thoughts.

It's his fault. This didn't have to happen. Cas should still be up and around, failing to understand metaphors and talking about how things taste like molecules. Instead Sam let him die because he was trying to protect Dean. Dean and his blood.

Demon blood has never served _Sam_. It served Azazel, Ruby, Lilith, Lucifer, and most recently Dean, but not him. He defeated Famine with it, yes, but he would have done anything to accomplish it another way. It's been rewarding in that it gives him a sense of power, control, but that doesn't justify it.

He doesn't need the blood for any real reason, not anymore. Crowley is dead. Sam was never in danger from Dean anyway. He's gone up against regular demons for years without the benefit of psychic powers.

But it would have been useful to have them in the past. And what are the drawbacks to it now that they don't have to worry about letting Lucifer out? Why can't he try again to take an evil thing he's been given and do good with it? The next time he encounters a demon, maybe he can save the person they're possessing.

The blood itself didn't kill Cas directly. He was going to die sooner or later. It was sooner than it had to be, but it was for a good cause. If the angel hadn't been there, Dean would have been stuck in the devil's trap while the hex bag took Sam out. He saved them, helped kill Crowley.

"Sam?" Dean prods.

The human looks at his brother. He does miss the old Dean. The one who loved Sam, even if sometimes he lied and betrayed and fought and argued and put him down. This Dean doesn't love him, but honestly is better at acting like it. That matters.

Sam takes out his pocketknife; the demon proffers his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~...This ending depresses _me_ and I'm the one who wrote it.~~  
>  Good thing I was just kidding. This is not the last chapter. I'm a trolling asshole. I have another 5 shades of red lined up.


	9. Chapter VIII - Burgundy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burgundy is, as you might expect, from the color of Burgundy wine. Red wine has some heart benefits. But like all alcoholic beverages, it also makes you drunk.
> 
> The dub-con in this chapter gets even more dubiously consensual.

One day, Dean brings home about five six-packs of beer.

"I feel like gettin' drunk, Sam. How about you?"

Sam shrugs. He's still down from the death of their friend and ally, but Dean has been finding ways to distract him. Just like he did before Cas died.

They decide to play a Star Wars marathon drinking game. Dean, of course, is only buzzed by the end of _Return of the Jedi_ , while Sam is so close to passing out he's lucky they're in his bedroom.

"What do you think, Sam, time for Episode I?"

"Nnnm," Sam replies.

"I'll take that as a no."

*

Sam wakes up suffering from a hangover, lying on his stomach, his pants gone, and Dean's dick in his ass.

"What the fuck, Dean?!" Sam makes an effort to push Dean off but it doesn't work. "You can't just start fucking me when I'm _asleep_!"

"I'm sorry. I just... I- I needed to."

"Dean..."

"I tried to wake you up, I swear. I didn't want to do this, but I know you'd rather I fuck you in your sleep than risk going out and killing somebody. I really, really need it right now."

Sam sighs. He has no good reason to suspect Dean isn't telling the truth. He'd rather not take the chance he is, no matter how uninterested he is in sex right now.

"I want blood afterwards."

"Sure thing." Dean presses a kiss to Sam's shoulder before he starts thrusting. The first few moans to come out of Sam are of pain.

*

Weeks pass. A sense of "normal" descends upon them. Sam drinks his brother's blood almost every day. They don't have sex often but when they do it's intense and leaves Sam having to remind himself that this is what's keeping other people safe from his brother. They still hunt a little, but Dean insists on a lot more R&R than before.

Dean never touches another woman—with his hands, that is. He undresses them with his eyes as often as he does Sam, who figures that that's as close to faithful as anyone can expect of a demon. He tells himself that again when Dean karaokes "Brand New Lover" by Dead Or Alive.

*

Once again, witchcraft is at the heart of a series of suspicious and gruesome deaths. Sam and Dean track down the magic practitioner—a man who recently sold his soul to a demon in exchange for knowledge and magic abilities.

The Winchesters don't say it aloud, but they both suspect Rowena has established herself as the new Queen of Hell. Her preferred method of damning souls is different from Crowley's, it seems.

The man outright refuses to give up witchcraft. Dean makes an executive decision to end the witch's life before Sam can reason with either of them.

The dead witch's previously-oblivious husband rushes into the room, having heard the commotion. The look on his face as he sees his beloved dead on the floor makes Sam cringe.

Before anyone realizes what's happening, Dean has pulled his knife from the witch's body. He slashes the throat of the bewildered, horrified widower, sending a spray of blood across the wall.

"Dean!"

The demon tenses, then lowers his knife. With reluctance he turns around to face his brother, like a rebellious teen who knows they're about to get a scolding. Instead of making eye contact, he's looking down at his knife as he wipes it off on his sleeve.

"I didn't mean to," he says in a detached monotone.

"You just killed an innocent man, Dean!"

"I know what I did!" Dean shouts, becoming defensive. He slams the knife down on a table. "I lost control for a second, alright?"

"That's- that's not 'alright'! That was _murder_."

The demon marches straight up to Sam, finally looking him dead in the eye.

"I know you want me to argue. You don't want to believe it, but too bad. I ain't denying it: your brother is a stone-cold killer. What are you gonna do about it? What do you do when the one person who's always looking out for you, the one person who can give you what you want, butchers a guy?"

"I-"

"The answer is _nothing_ , Sam. You need me, and there's no point in worrying about this shit when you're powerless." After a couple seconds of staring to make sure he's understood, Dean turns and walks away, muttering, "Let's just go home."

*

Thoughts are racing, questions boiling, and fears building in Sam's head. Tension grows between the brothers as the miles fly by.

And yet the car is as quiet as death for hours.

*

They're home and getting out of the car before Sam can break the silence. He rests his arms on the roof of the Impala and speaks quietly but firmly.

"You're supposed to be fucking me so you don't lose control. If you were that close to breaking, you should have let me know."

The demon mirrors his brother's pose and tone.

"I haven't been fucking you the way I need to. I need to do it harder, rougher, with less of you enjoying it. I need it to be more like- like-"

"Like rape?" Sam supplies, letting the word hang uncomfortably for a few moments. "Is that why you tried to fuck me in my sleep? That's what you're trying to tell me, that you need to kill or rape to keep the Mark from taking over?"

"Don't call it that. It's just a power thing."

"Shoe fits, Dean."

He rolls his eyes.

"Whatever you want to call it, it'll be more effective than what we've been doing. 'Cause you have been helping. Just not as much as you could be."

Nodding, Sam steps away. He can't make himself blame Dean for not wanting to rough him up; it drove him away before. Sam's just going to have to be prepared to hurt.

*

Another week or so passes. Sam and Dean finish another job, one that didn't result in Dean killing anyone.

Sam has been keeping an eye on the demon. Dean needs something; that much he can guess.

They get home and get out of the car.

"You okay, Dean? You seem kind of... on edge."

"Maybe I am."

The brothers face each other.

"Take me right now, if it'll help," Sam challenges. "Overpower me."

Dean reaches for the human only to encounter invisible resistance. He smiles at Sam, like they're playing a game.

"Overpower me," Sam repeats. "If it's what you need, I want you to have it."

Sam reduces his defensive efforts steadily until Dean touches him. He then surrenders entirely, submits to the demon's hands like a ragdoll.

Dean manhandles his brother and bends him over the trunk of the car. Tearing Sam's jeans down to his ankles, the demon has only one thing to say:

"Hope you're ready, Sammy."

Being taken from behind with no lube, no stretching? Of _course_ he's ready, Sam thinks sarcastically. He grunts in pain as Dean shoves inside him; his face gets smushed against the rear window as the demon starts to fuck him hard.

Near the end, Sam is able to ignore the burning pain and focus a little on the pleasure of knowing he's helping Dean, and the way his brother's thrusts are hitting his prostate.

Dean pulls out to finish himself, come landing on the back of Sam's thigh. He flips Sam over to look at him with black eyes.

"Got hard being fucked by your brother, didn't you?"

Sam nods.

"Show me just how much you liked it."

The human spits into his palm before stroking himself. It's the dirtiest moment thus far—pleasuring himself while lying on the car that's been their home, their bed, their base, their hearse. It's hot, too, being watched by Dean. Sam can almost forget the violence he just experienced.

After he comes, his brother grins and walks away.

"What about the blood?" Sam calls out, scrambling to pull his clothes back into place.

"I didn't say I was gonna let you drink afterwards."

"You didn't say you _weren't_."

They're in front of the door to the bunker when the demon whirls around.

"If you want my blood so much, take it. You have the power to pin me down, cut me open, and suck my blood. You don't need my permission."

"I don't want to drink without your permission," Sam responds, hoping to placate his brother.

"Then don't bitch when you don't get it."

Sam keeps his mouth shut. Maybe the unspoken agreement between them that he gets demon blood to make up for how Dean fucks him isn't as clear as he assumed.

*

Several nights later, Sam wakes up to his brother climbing onto his bed. With the light off, he recognizes Dean primarily by scent.

"Are you trying to fuck me in my sleep again?" the human asks, tensing.

"No. I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the other day."

"It's okay, Dean."

"You want some blood now?"

Sam caresses his brother's face in the dark before tugging him closer. The demon's throat is now above his face; Sam pulls it down so he can inhale the scent emanating from the pulsing vein.

He reaches for the knife he knows is on his bedside table. He makes a cut, as he has countless times now, and puts his mouth around the wound. All Sam has to do is swallow the ichor pouring out.

When he's done, he can't help but wrap his arms around his brother. He kisses his way from Dean's newly-healed throat to his lips.

The demon manages to slip under the blanket as he returns the kisses. He lets Sam push him onto his back.

"Do you wanna fuck me, Sam?"

"Yes, god," the human whispers. He pulls Dean's clothes off, revels in the feel of skin under his hands. He never thought he would want another man's body so much, least of all his brother's.

He strips himself quickly and slicks himself with spit before pushing into his brother's tight hole.

He enjoys it more this time, now that he's not distracted by a thirst for blood. He can focus on the warm body under him, the way Dean is moaning under him as Sam strokes his cock.

With Dean, it seems to be better if they don't look at each other. This is the first time they've had sex facing each other and it's in the dark. Sam tries not to think about what that might signify.

Dean curses loudly as he nears climax, and finally spills over Sam's hand, inner muscles convulsing. Sam in turn gasps his brother's name when he comes.

Panting, Sam pulls out and lies on his brother, head resting on Dean's chest near the anti-possession tattoo that proves his identity. The demon strokes his back as Sam drifts off to sleep.

*

Sam wakes up in the exact position he fell asleep in, essentially cuddling with his brother. He doesn't bother opening his eyes at first.

After about three seconds, Sam's skin crawls in horror.

His brother's chest is silent and still.

No heartbeat.

No breath.

Sam pulls away with a gasp.

"Sam?" Dean's voice asks in the dark.

The human's mouth goes dry.

"Dean?"

"What's wrong?"

"Your heart wasn't beating. You weren't breathing."

"What are you talking about?"

"I had my head on your chest. You didn't have a heartbeat."

"Give me your hand." Dean grabs his brother's hand and lays it over his heart. There's a steady rhythm. "You're just imagining things, Sam."

It seems possible. He did just wake up.

The light turns on unexpectedly. Sam blinks until he's accustomed to it. He realizes that Dean must have flicked the switch telekinetically. Because he's a demon.

The human regards his brother.

Dean has done this before, tried to gaslight Sam.

"No. Your heart was dead. Your- your _body_ is dead."

"Fine, you got me," Dean says with a sigh. "Technically I'm a stiff. Did you forget what Metatron did?"

"There's no wound."

"Because I healed it. I keep everything running most of the time, but the on switch is still, y'know, off."

"You're possessing your own dead body."

Dean shrugs.

"You're a walking corpse," Sam says. "And I just fucked you. I fucked a corpse." He presses the back of his hand to his mouth. He feels sick.

"You're just getting this now?"

In silence, Sam gets off the bed and starts putting clothes on.

"You did a damn good job of pretending to be alive," he rasps eventually, voice trembling the slightest bit.

"So what now? Are we gonna stop fucking just because I wanted to relax for five friggin' minutes while you were asleep? I still have needs, Sam."

"Then we're getting rid of the Mark. I'm not going to have sex with my brother's dead body."

"I want to keep the Mark."

"You're not you right now."

"Ugh, not that again! Sam, I'm _me_. I'm a demon and I'm happy. That's what you want, I heard you say it to Crowley. If you don't wanna drink my blood, fine. If you don't wanna help me blow off steam, that's also fine. But I'm happy being this and I don't want to lose the Mark."

Sam shakes his head.

"Where are you going?" Dean asks.

"Just need to clear my head."

*

Sam leaves the bunker intending to take a simple walk, but within seconds of shutting the door behind him, he feels the need to run. So he breaks into a sprint, expecting any moment to hear his brother yelling, _"Run, Forrest, run!"_

He doesn't know if he even wants to go back. Not as long as Dean is still a demon.

He's fucked up badly, let chances slip through his fingers, allowed tragedies to happen, done disgusting things.

How did history repeat itself so perfectly? Did years of trying repress the fact that Ruby was possessing a corpse when they were fucking blind him to the realization he was doing it again? He can still remember the first time it happened with Ruby, when he rationalized it with the fact that he felt like a corpse too. They were just a couple dead bodies fucking.

Somehow he didn't think of Dean as a corpse once he found out the black-eyed thing in there was Dean. For months, he's been getting off by being fucked by the demon, drinking the demon's blood, yet he never seriously considered what he might be doing.

Suddenly, Sam wants more than anything to hear Dean criticizing him, telling him off for being an idiot. He wants to feel the sting of Dean telling Sam that he can't trust him anymore, the stab of being told that his brother doesn't believe in him anymore.

Fuck whatever Dean said in that church, talking Sam out of completing the trials. There were plenty of times that Dean didn't believe in him. He'll be pissed again if and when Sam cures him, and it's what Sam deserves.

Sam slows to a walk when tears blur his vision. He blinks them away but to no avail. The weight of the past few months is finally crashing down on him.

*

Sam ends up hitchhiking and spending a week at a motel a couple towns away. He doesn't have his laptop; he has to resort to a local library to do research. Of course, if the Men of Letters had nothing on the Mark of Cain, there's no reason to think that he'll find anything on the Internet, let alone in a random library, but he persists.

He prays to Castiel every night and every morning, just in case. There's never even a hint that anyone hears him. It feels like praying to God used to feel before they met real angels.

*

It's purely an accident when Sam is trying to open an app on his phone and happens to hit Voicemail instead.

He intends to close the app, but then he notices that there's a message from Cas.

It's marked as heard, but Sam can't remember what message it might be. He taps on it and listens.

_"Sam, it's Cas. I'm unsure if this message will reach you. I have been thinking about the Mark of Cain at length. It was created by an archangel; only an archangel or something even more powerful can erase it. What you need is the demon tablet. It's in heaven currently. You'll need an angel's help to acquire it. If I'm unable to help you, you must pray to Hannah. She will be reluctant, but if you remind her of the threat Dean poses as long as he has the Mark, she may reconsider._

_"Once you have the demon tablet, it is a matter of tapping into the power within it. If you still have demon blood in your system, it should be simple."_ The message is interrupted by a coughing fit. When Castiel recovers, he ends the message with a simple _"Good luck, Sam."_

His hands are shaking as he checks his recent calls. He can't find any missed calls from Cas since well before the confrontation with Crowley.

He feels a pinprick of hope. Maybe Cas is somehow still out there, incorporeal but able to leave messages. It doesn't make sense, but Sam has to hope; he has to maintain his denial until he's saved Dean. Then he can fall apart if he has to accept that he let Cas die.

*

Sam goes to a secluded playground in the dead of night. Even dressed in layers, he shivers in the early January cold. The full moon illuminates the world, making everything dark shades of gray-blue.

He has a backpack with the things he needs to summon an angel, but he decides to start simple.

"Hannah, uh, Castiel told me to pray to you. I need your help, please," Sam starts awkwardly. He pauses and looks around. He remembers Hannah; she's the angel who put a sword in Cas's hand and told him to kill Dean. He can't say he's looking forward to dealing with her, but Cas must have named her for a reason.

He takes a breath, ready to continue, when a faint ringing starts. It quickly grows louder while his surroundings begin to rumble and shake. He's ready for it when the light comes, brighter and brighter.

_Sam Winchester._

"Are you Hannah?"

_Yes. Where is Castiel?_

"I don't know. I thought he died, but I'm not sure anymore. Please, I know this must be a big favor to ask, but I need to borrow the demon tablet."

_Why?_

"Cas said I could use it to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean."

 _It's unwise to bestow such power on any individual._ There's hesitation before Hannah continues, _Especially a Winchester. You and your brother have a habit of solving one problem by inadvertently creating an even larger one._

"I'm- I'm not saying that's not true, but unless there are side effects Cas didn't tell me about, it should be pretty simple. I only need it long enough to remove the Mark. That's all I'll do with it, you have my word."

_Even if I could get the demon tablet for you, why should I?_

"Because Dean is dangerous with the Mark. He's practically unstoppable."

_That doesn't warrant the risks I would incur by letting you use the demon tablet._

Sam exhales sharply, losing the little hope he started out with.

"Please. There has to be something I can do in exchange. Cas said to me that he just wanted to live long enough to see Dean human again and without the Mark. If he is dead, it's because I didn't stop Dean from killing him. I owe it to Cas to do everything I can to make things right."

After a long pause, the angel finally responds.

_I don't wish to disrespect Castiel's final wishes. Very well. If I'm able to get it, I will lend you the demon tablet. Once you have Dean subdued, pray to me. I cannot guarantee that I will have it for you, however. It's well-guarded. If I am unable to get it, I will help you find another way to remove the Mark._

"Thank you."

_This puts you in my debt, Sam Winchester._

"I won't forget."

Hannah's presence departs, leaving Sam with a ringing in his ears and a splitting headache. All he can hope is that if and when she asks him for a favor, it will be something he's willing to do.

*

It seems like a bad idea to try to subdue Dean when Sam's already in the early stages of withdrawal, but if he got his brother into handcuffs without demon blood once, he can do it again. If he's lucky, he might even be able to fake complacency long enough to drink directly from his brother before turning on him.

Of course, the demon handcuffs are in the bunker. Holy water, Sam can make, a devil's trap he can draw, but the handcuffs are the crucial element.

When he gets to the bunker, he's surprised to find the door unlocked. He's alert and cautious as he enters, scanning for signs that he's walking into a trap. Or worse, that something has happened to his brother.

"Hey, Sam," Dean greets from the entrance to the corridor as Sam descends the stairs.

"Hey."

They stand a few feet apart, studying each other. There's no lying between them. Sam's emotions are too strong and raw to hide.

Without further preamble, Dean flicks his wrist slightly. The human feels the attempt to shove him back though he's largely unaffected. It's warning enough for him to be somewhat prepared when the demon charges him.

They brawl, grappling and throwing punches with everything they have. Sam realizes quickly that he doesn't have a chance without using demon blood. His reduced powers, however, fall short. It's down to sheer physical strength between them, and in that the holder of the Mark of Cain is the winner.

Soon Dean has his brother pinned on his back with a knife to his throat. The blade is pressing into Sam's flesh as he stares up wide-eyed at his brother.

"This time, Sammy, you got no choices. There's nothing you can say or do to change my mind about what I do with you now."

"I'm your brother," Sam whispers. This can't be it; this can't be the end.

The demon outright laughs.

"It's all over your face, you know that? You think some part of me is human, that some part of me still cares about 'family.' You think you're _special_ to me? I've got news for you, buddy: you've been fun to fuck, but it's nothing I can't get somewhere else for a lot less trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized while writing this chapter that in fighting heteronormativity I managed to continue the SPN tradition of killing LGBT*Q/MOGAI characters. I am facepalming so hard.


	10. Chapter IX - Auburn, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Auburn is a reddish-brown hair color. It's also the name of the Auburn system, AKA the New York system. It was a penal method of the 19th century in which prisoners worked all day and were kept in solitary confinement at night with enforced silence at all times. The enforced silence took away the prisoner's "sense of self" and made them complacent and obedient.

"You gonna kill me, do it. Go ahead," Sam challenges. He blinks away the tears of utter failure threatening to form. "Cut my throat. Fuck my corpse. It's nothing I haven't done to you."

"Sammy," Dean begins before leaning down until his face is mere inches away. "You really know how to turn a guy on."

Sam doesn't reply. If this is the end, the demon isn't going to care what he has to say.

Right about then, Dean's fist connects with the side of Sam's head. The human is immediately knocked out cold.

*

Sam awakens in a completely dark room. He's hogtied, chained to the floor by his wrists and ankles. He can't move more than a few inches in any direction.

He's in the bunker's dungeon.

He's been stripped down to his T-shirt and his jeans, pockets empty and feet bare. His belt is gone. He doesn't feel like he's been violated, at least. Probably just a precaution against possible escape methods.

So he's not dead. Probably. Dean is keeping him for some reason. But as what?

Sam has nothing to do but lie on the floor and wait for his brother to show up and explain what's going on.

*

Hours later, the doors open. Sam closes his eyes, expecting the lights to turn on and blind him, but instead he only hears footsteps.

"Dean?"

The demon—Sam can smell him—approaches, then stops. To Sam's horror, the next thing that happens is the demon dropping to his knees, straddling him.

"No. Don't do this."

"Can't you think about anything other than sex?" Dean scoffs. He gets a handful of Sam's hair and uses it to lift his head. Then something that feels like a wet towel is pressed against his lips. There's no scent.

Parched as he is, Sam keeps his lips sealed.

"It's just water, Sam."

Dean presses harder, until there's cool rivulets running down Sam's chin and throat.

It doesn't matter if it's a lie, Sam decides. He's thirsty and defeated. He opens his mouth to suck liquid from the soaked cloth. It's a lot easier than Dean trying to use a cup or bottle of water.

As Dean takes it away and sets his brother's head down, he stands.

"I'll check back in a few hours. Let me know if you need to piss. Or if you want a blanket."

"What's going on?"

"You're gonna be here a few days, Sam. You remember detoxing, right? I'm not gonna let you just rot in here."

Sam's mind is rushing in ten different directions, processing the idea that Dean wants him to detox, figuring out the possible meanings behind it.

"So you're not going to kill me."

"Not unless you get to be more trouble than you're worth."

Sam wonders how much trouble Dean thinks he is worth.

*

This time, as the demon blood dissipates, Sam does not shout for help. No one who cares will hear.

Utterly alone, he groans in pain, writhes on the hard floor, sweats until his shirt is soaked, and shivers from cold while his veins burn.

Hours, minutes, a day later, Dean comes in to give him more water. The light remains off.

The demon's footsteps move away afterwards, and then stop.

Sam listens and he can fucking hear the blade slicing Dean's skin. The scent of demon blood seems to fill his entire body with need and longing, the very opposite of orgasm.

He yanks at his chains, hoping the pain will do _something_ , to no avail. Insane thirst is taking over. It takes everything he has not to beg for it out loud.

There's a harsh chuckle before the demon leaves.

*

He's left alone with his thoughts until he feels a new type of chill.

Cold spot.

Ghost.

"Who's there?"

Sam doesn't know what voice to expect, but it isn't the one that asks:

"Can you hear me, Sam?"

" _Dean_? Are- are you a ghost?"

He has to be hallucinating, but...

"I've been stuck in the veil since you brought my corpse back here."

"Then- then-" The implications fully descend upon Sam, if this is real, and he retches. He breathes deeply a few times before choking out, "Who's riding your corpse?"

"How the fuck would I know? I don't know what happened but one second I'm alive and you're taking me to the car and the next, I'm in the veil but my body is walking and talking with Crowley."

"I was looking for you for weeks."

"I caught a couple glimpses. I started seeing and hearing a lot more once the demon moved in, but I've had to hide from him."

"So you know everything that's been happening."

"Yeah. I know," Dean's voice says, stern syllables making it clear that he's already passed judgment. "I've seen what you like to do with my body."

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Sam whispers, voice breaking.

"Did you ever stop to consider what it's like watching you drink  _goddamn demon blood_ from _my_ veins?"

"God, Dean, please... I'm sorry. I want to make it up to you, or try to. What-"

"What makes you think you can make that up at all? What makes you think I want to bother getting disappointed by you again?"

A lump rises in Sam's throat and his eyes feel hot with growing tears. He should have been careful of what he wished for.

"Don't say that to me. Just... please don't say that. Tell me what you want me to do, whatever it is."

"No, Sam. I forgave you for doing this once, gave you another chance to be a brother I could trust. Here we are, five, six years later, and you fell for the same shit all over again. There's nothing for you _to_ do."

"Stop it," Sam pleads.

"I am stopping. I'm done with it, done with you. Don't bother bringing me back if you ever get out of here."

"Why-" Sam breaks off, doing everything he can not to start sobbing. It doesn't matter if it's real. Pain is pain. Dean's voice is Dean's voice, made more potent by the lack of light.

"Am I saying all this?" the voice supplies. "Just taking care of unfinished business, after spending the last few months wondering how the hell I was ever proud of us."

*

Sam welcomes the next bout of agony, the power that tries to fling him around the room but can only pull him half a foot or so in any direction. The force results in the skin of his wrists and ankles being chafed and torn open.

He'd been unable to respond after Dean's answer and he heard nothing more from Dean's ghost. For an hour he did nothing but take in the sensation of tears dripping from his face in the complete darkness, and what felt like claws and barbed hooks destroying him from the inside.

When the pain can no longer be used as an escape to oblivion, Sam tries to find a hole in the theory that a demon has been posing as Dean for nearly six months. He comes up with explanations for every weak link. The tattoo was torn off and replaced; any little differences in his mannerisms were dismissed by Sam with "Dean is a demon;" knowledge that only Dean could have is in Dean's body with or without his spirit; the ghost itself was smuggled in the same way Kevin's spirit was removed.

That's another aspect of the torture. He needs it to be a hallucination. In all likelihood it was, except now the nagging doubt is there, and it doesn't change the fact that Dean as a human has had similar words for him before. If Sam somehow escapes, removes the Mark, and cures his brother, he might hear those words again from the real Dean. The one who did not watch but _felt_ Sam drinking his blood.

And thus he prays to someone he knows cannot hear him, whispering the same plea until the words lose their meaning.

He has no idea how many times his lips and tongue form the sounds. He doesn't stop even when his throat is dry as sandpaper. Forcing the words out is a good distraction. If he repeats it enough he won't have to think about what Dean's ghost, hallucinated or not, said to him.

He eventually fades into something vaguely like sleep, where all his dreams are nightmares.

*

Sam awakens to the feeling of a hand smoothing back his hair. It's not Dean's, but he can smell demon blood. Strangely, it isn't tempting to him.

"I'll do you a favor and not pretend I'm real," a female voice tells him, patting his cheek.

Sam tries to jerk away, but the chains don't let him move far.

"Ruby."

"I'm not Ruby. I'm a _hallucination_ of the first demon that wore a corpse to manipulate you with sex, drugs, and emotional support. Get it together, Sam."

Petulant, Sam turns his head away from the touch. His head is killing him from dehydration, plus detox. From the voice, he can tell it's the petite, dark-haired dead girl Ruby had possessed.

"I don't care about what my subconscious has to say from you," he says. "You were a lying bitch."

"That was at the end. I'm the Ruby you thought existed, the one you trusted. Even loved a little."

"That was a mistake."

"Look, Sammy. This wasn't your fault."

"I get it now, you're whatever fucked-up part of me that thinks I can blame someone else for this."

"You're not blaming anyone, Sam. You didn't set the trap you fell into. Your brother knows you better than anyone. He knows how to play you, and you were fucked the second he put that knife to your throat."

"I had a million chances to turn on him. I could have drawn a devil's trap and gotten those cuffs back on him whenever the hell I wanted."

"Sam, you're giving yourself _way_ too much credit. You're a Winchester. You do know your biggest weakness, after your brother, right? ...It's keeping deals. All Dean needed was to buy himself a little time, then kill it while he pushed your buttons." The hallucination is lounging next to him stroking his hair, so gentle he almost gives in to lean into it. After a significant pause, Ruby's voice continues, "And now you're a textbook domestic abuse victim."

"It's not like that. Dean has the Mark of Cain. If he doesn't get some kind of- of release, he'll kill. But he never did anything I didn't consent to."

"You can't just replace ground beef with tofu for magic like this. Face it, Dean just wanted an excuse to fuck you and hurt you while he did it. There must be some psychology class you took that talked about this."

"You can't compare Dean to some asshole boyfriend."

"Lying. Denial. Rationalization. Minimization. Intimidation. Isolation. Guilt trips. Shaming. Seduction. Feigning innocence. Projecting the blame. Vilifying the victim. It's all there, Sam."

"We're brothers. Brothers say and do all kinds of shit to each other."

"There's not enough left of your brother for you to use that excuse. Sammy... it's time to accept it. You've failed. You never save your brother, not from the big stuff. Somebody always beats you to it. Your dad, angels, a vampire. Curing Dean? You can't do it, not without Castiel. You blew it. It's time to lie down and take whatever Dean has in store for you."

"Ruby..."

"Hallucination."

"Was Dean's ghost a hallucination too?"

"Do you realize you're sitting in the dark talking to nothing?"

"I don't care, just answer the damn question. ...Please."

"You're pathetic, Sam."

Ruby's presence vanishes.

*

Sam estimates he's been in the dungeon for over two days when the fits of pain get even worse. He cries out his brother's name because that's simply his nature. His throat feels like sandpaper by the time the light above him unexpectedly turns on.

Dim as it is, he's blinded for a few seconds. He blinks and squints until he can tell who's standing in front of him.

Castiel.

"Hello, Sam."

"Cas?! Please tell me you're real."

"I am."

Sam decides he wouldn't hallucinate being blinded by sudden light. He's thought all along that Cas might still be alive, anyway.

"I'm so sorry, Cas. I shouldn't have left you there."

"I know, and I fully accept your apology."

"Are you back for good? Do you have your grace again?"

"More or less. I left my vessel at the last minute and, with difficulty, reached Heaven. We found that Metatron hadn't used all of my grace, so I'm back in rotation, as Dean would say. I'm still weak, but not diminishing."

"Can you get me out of these?"

"They're angel-proof. Besides, your detox isn't finished. It's a bad idea to go chasing after Dean in your state."

"I guess you're right. ...Cas, is- is there any EMF in here?"

"Of course. Dean's been here, hasn't he?"

"Can you tell if there was a ghost here?"

"Why?"

"Dean's ghost was speaking to me. I think. It was probably a hallucination. I just need to be sure."

"Dean is a demon in his body, Sam. I saw it myself. I would have told you if it wasn't your brother. He can't be both a demon and a ghost. ...What did it say to you?"

"It doesn't matter. It wasn't real."

"Whatever it was, it was simply another form of pain as the demon blood leaves your body. Once your brother is human again, he will acknowledge that there were things beyond your control."

"Not everything."

"Not everything, but not nothing, either."

"...I'm glad you're here, Cas," Sam rasps after a contemplative silence. "I don't think I can do this on my own."

Abruptly, Sam hears his brother coming. The light is now off; Cas is probably gone.

Dean enters the dungeon.

"Still alive, Sammy?"

Ignoring the demon, Sam asks:

"What are you going to do when I'm clean?"

"I'm still deciding," Dean says as he checks the restraints. "Alls I know is I'm not gonna let you go to waste. I put my time and effort into making you detox."

"You put effort into a hell of a lot more than that."

"Glad you noticed."

*

Two minutes after Dean leaves, Sam dares to whisper it:

"Cas."

Thirty seconds pass. Nothing.

"Cas?"

Sam takes a deep breath. One more time.

"Castiel, please come back."

There's still complete silence and darkness. Sam wishes the floor would just open up and swallow him, take him away from this hell.

It was too good to be true anyway.


	11. Chapter X - Auburn, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Auburn.
> 
> Trigger warning for a lot of non-con sex.

About eighteen hours later, the demon blood is gone from Sam's system. There are bigger problems replacing cravings and hallucinations, though. Everything from now on will be totally, painfully real. And no one to help him if he doesn't already have Dean trussed up six ways from Sunday.

The lights turn on, drawing a gasp of pain from Sam. Dean is already standing in front of him by the time Sam's eyes adjust.

The demon holds out his hand and Sam is held utterly still. He can barely breathe.

Satisfied, Dean lets up on the pressure.

"What's wrong, Sam? You should be happy. Finally, you're less of a demon than me. You have no power, no nothing.

" _This_ was my endgame, Sammy. Crowley's dead, I got my demon-friendly secret clubhouse, and my number-one threat is in chains. No one's gonna come looking, at least no one I can't lock out or kill. No angel is going to hear you no matter how much you pray.

"The second you walked into that bar, I knew you'd be a challenge. I could've just killed you, but I have a few thousand years ahead of me, and there's only one you. It wasn't an option. So, I had to make you give up. But, and don't take this the wrong way, I knew you wouldn't, because nothing can break that thing that was between us. That's the mistake everybody else made, when they thought they could rip us apart. The best I could hope for was twisting it until you wanted me like this. So I got you to taste me, and I've been pulling your strings ever since."

"Okay, Master of Puppets-"

That gets a genuine laugh out of the demon.

"-what's your plan now?"

Half-under his breath, Dean hums, " _Never-ending maze, drift on numbered days, now your life is out of season..._ " He kneels, then straddles Sam as he did days earlier. He pushes the bottom of Sam's t-shirt up, baring his chest. The first finger of his right hand traces the outline of the anti-possession tattoo there.

Sam knows the next line of the song. Horror strikes through his entire body.

"I'll- I'll throw you out," he informs Dean.

"Don't worry, I'd mark you, like Meg did. Then it'd be me and you for, I don't know, the rest of eternity? Come on, Sammy, you've been possessed so many times already, you must be used to it."

"No."

Dean's nails dig into Sam's skin and draw blood.

"I think the first thing I'll do is take my old body to my bedroom and have some fun with it. You must want some payback after everything I've done to you."

"What the _fuck_ is with you and necrophilia?"

"Maybe because that thing you said, me being a corpse. Maybe it's not pussy or dick that turns me on now, maybe it's death."

Sam presses his lips together hard as the demon gouges his flesh. Screaming won't help anything. Crying won't, either, but he can't stop that.

Blood rushes to fill the wounds as Dean rips skin away. An endorphin rush punctuates the ordeal while Dean examines his fingertips and wipes his hand on his jeans.

"Beg, Sam."

"Stay the hell out of me!"

"That's not begging."

"Please don't, please don't do this."

The demon grins.

"I'm just kiddin'. I don't want to possess you. You're more fun like this." He wraps his hand around Sam's throat and squeezes just hard enough to cause discomfort. Returning to the Metallica motif, the demon ad-libs, "I could help you die."

Sam blinks his tears away. Better than possession.

"Nah," Dean says after a dramatic pause, releasing the human. "Killing you would be mercy, Sam. I told you right at the beginning that what I do to you ain't gonna be mercy. You remember that?"

Sam nods.

"You don't get mercy. All you get is the knowledge that the guy with the Mark of Cain is a demon walking free because you failed. Because without your big brother you're the easiest guy in the world to mess with."

The demon unzips Sam's jeans.

" _I will run through you,_ " Dean whispers as he starts to stroke Sam through his briefs.

The captive turns his head away as his body hardens against his will. He can think of nothing but the last line of the verse.

Dean pauses, takes something out, and cuts Sam's clothes away. Then come the sounds of him removing his own jeans and boxers. Before Sam realizes what's happening, the demon is sinking down on his cock, taking him easily.

"Dean, stop," the human whispers.

"Shut up, Sam!" Eyes black, Dean grabs him by the hair. "The game's over. I'm tired of lying, pretending to care, listening to what you say. You aren't my equal. You aren't even my pet. You're a high-maintenance sex toy and you're mine. Get used to it." He lets Sam's head drop to the floor, pain slamming through the human's skull.

Sam can't fight. He has no choice but to shut his eyes and lie there, psychological pain increasing while physical pleasure builds.

He wants to vomit rather than climax, but no such luck. His come is dripping from Dean's ass when the demon pulls off and finishes himself with his hand. Most of that lands on Sam's bloodied shirt, with a few warm drops on his face.

The demon sighs, relaxed and content for a few seconds. Then he leans down.

"How you feelin', Sam? Good?" Dean wipes the sweat from Sam's brow and smooths his hair back. "What if I told you that you're never gonna see the light of day again, that you're gonna be chained to this floor forever? What if this is all you can expect from life from now on?"

"What do you care how I feel about it?"

"I don't, I'm just letting you know where you stand."

"That's it? That's your big plan for me?"

"Maybe." After a few pensive seconds, Dean vanishes.

In his solitude, Sam can't focus on anything but the way his shirt is sticking to the bloody mess on his chest. What used to be a protective symbol is tattered flesh. At any moment, a cloud of black smoke could come rushing in and take control of his body. God knows if Sam is strong enough to fight a demon in his head at this point.

Maybe he would be better off dead after all.

*

Sam falls asleep; he doesn't know for how long. A few hours after he wakes up, Dean returns.

"Do you acknowledge me as the winner here?" he asks as he turns on the light.

The human waits for elaboration while his eyes adjust.

"Look, I have three options." The demon holds out his thumb. "I keep you locked up here until you die." His index finger: "I kill you." His middle finger: "I let you out of those chains. We already talked about killing you. Keeping you chained to the floor... that's just boring. But if I free you, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Sam lies.

"I don't mind you sticking around, Sam. You're..." Dean pauses, at a sudden loss for words. He cocks his head and admits, "You're my favorite thing. So if you swear that you give up, that you won't try to cure or kill me, I'll let you roam around the bunker. Like before we killed Crowley, minus the blood, and hunting."

"And minus the fucking?"

"No. I am going to take your ass whenever I want and do whatever I want with it. If you follow my rules, everything will be great. If I catch you even thinking about breaking one, you're back in here for the rest of your life."

"...Deal."

Dean holds his brother down while he frees each of Sam's limbs. He backs away before completely releasing Sam.

It's difficult to even sit up; eventually Sam gets on his hands and knees. That's when he notices a couple sigils painted on the wall. Cas was never there; no angel could have gotten in.

"Come crawling faster, Sammy," Dean jokes.

Sam looks up at him with a glare. He gets to his feet, unsteady but upright. He's lost count of how many days he was in the dungeon. It doesn't matter. He's just beginning what might be a new eternity.

*

The first thing Sam does is take a shower, wincing as he peels the fabric of his shirt from the scab on his chest. When he gets out, Dean hands him some clothing and leads him to the library. Food is waiting—food Sam actually likes and Dean used to hate.

"It's not poisoned," Dean says in response to the wary look.

"...Thanks."

"I figured since I'm gonna make you fucking miserable in a million other ways, you can have a couple nice things."

As Sam eats, Dean rattles off rules and restrictions:

"No sharps, though I'll let you shave once in a while. No pens, pencils, or anything else you can write with. No computer, no phone. No shoes. No leaving the bunker. If a door is locked or chained, you're not allowed through it. You can't go into the kitchen but I'll get you anything you want. If you find any unlocked doors, you can't lock them. You can watch whatever you want. You can read whatever you want as long as it's not about demons or the Mark of Cain. You break any rules, you start planning something, you hide something from me, you're in the dungeon for good. If you find anything lying around that you're not allowed to have, you tell me about it.

"I'm going to fuck you whenever and wherever I feel like it. I won't give you any rules there because I can just keep you still if I need to. But if you go too far, you're going to regret it. You get all that, Sam?"

The human nods.

*

The first time Dean has his way with Sam after freeing him is under twenty-four hours later.

Sam has already made his decision. He will not let himself enjoy anything this demon does to him. He will not lie there and take it quietly if he can move an inch. He will not accept anything from Dean's corpse.

The demon shoves him face-down on the bed. He's laughing as Sam struggles to get free from the magic holding him still.

"Keep trying, Sam. I like a challenge."

Dean strips him naked before taking several minutes to stretch him. It doesn't help much; Sam refuses to relax. With difficulty the demon manages to shove himself into Sam's ass anyway.

"You know, this is only going to hurt you while making me enjoy it more."

"Good for you," Sam grunts.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam's body and kisses his shoulder as he begins to thrust slowly.

"You feel so good, Sam," the demon murmurs into his brother's skin. "Really gonna love fucking you now that I can do it however the hell I want. No more pretending. I can fuck you real hard or nice and slow, ride you, hump you like a dog, whatever I'm in the mood for. I'll find out what you like, what makes you dripping wet no matter how much you try not to want it."

Sam doesn't respond. He makes sure Dean still knows that he's fighting throughout the ordeal, even after Dean pulls out and comes. He's fighting while Dean flips him over and starts sucking his cock. He's even straining against the power holding him still while he's coming in his brother's mouth.

He doesn't give up until Dean lets up on the invisible force pinning him down right before leaving the room.

Sam, one, Dean, zero.

*

The days blend together into a series of being subject to Dean's whims, watching mind-numbing TV, reading the books in the Men of Letters library, occasionally eating or drinking, working out, and little else.

The demon watches him almost constantly, except when he disappears for anywhere between a minute and three hours. Sam has no idea if Dean's even in the bunker when that happens.

Dean is good at guessing what Sam is thinking, so the human chooses to focus on whatever is happening in the moment. The only time he can truly think and plot is in the dark, in the minutes before sleep.

As covertly as he can, Sam has been looking for something he can use against Dean. Something iron to strike him with, something to use to paint a devil's trap, a rosary for making holy water, anything that will cut him.

If he could bite his wrist and use his own blood to paint a devil's trap, he would—it's a trick he's used before. The problem is timing. He only has one chance; if Dean finds the wound he'll suspect and throw him in the dungeon. There's no way to know when the demon will disappear and for how long. Even when he's preparing a meal for Sam, he checks on him.

Every time Dean fucks him, Sam considers it a victory for himself. He never stops resisting from the second Dean approaches him to when he leaves the room.

The demon never seems to get annoyed by it. It goes without saying that the longer Sam is defiant, the sweeter victory will be for Dean when he finally gives up.

He'll never surrender, Sam tells himself. Dean will never win.

*

It's been over a week since Sam was granted "parole." Maybe it's getting close to two weeks; Sam isn't sure.

Dean has fucked him at least twice a day, sometimes three or four times. Sam's constantly sore and fatigued. It's difficult to walk sometimes.

And yet he's always trying to evade his brother's grasp. Whatever Dean tries, the human doesn't stop saying "no" with his entire being.

Sam figures he's fought his brother at least two dozen times already. He's triumphed every time because he never laid down and let Dean take what he wanted without a fight, let alone enjoyed it.

He starts to wonder what Dean will say when he's human again. How close will it be to his hallucination? How much disgust from Dean will Sam be able to bear? How guilty will Dean feel about the things he did?

Sam tries to look at it logically: what's the worst thing that could happen if Dean is human again? Even if he hates Sam, it's the right thing to do. It's to protect the people who would be at risk from a demon with the Mark of Cain. Other people are more important than avoiding Dean's scorn. Other human lives are more important than Dean wanting Sam. They're more important than Dean not feeling shame and guilt, too.

It's hard to remember that when the world has been shrunk down to Sam and a demonized Dean in an underground bunker. It's a world that comes with a guarantee: Dean will always want Sam. It won't be for anything but sex, but all other things being equal, Sam would honestly prefer his brother wanting only to hurt and fuck him than his brother wanting nothing to do with him.

His breath hitches slightly when it dawns on him: the worst thing that could happen is wanting his demon-brother back.

*

For the first time, when Dean enters the library, Sam loses his nerve. He immediately gets up and leaves the room.

The demon catches up to him in the hallway, grabs him by the throat.

"Where you goin', Sam?"

"What's the damn point in fucking me four times a day?"

"I want you to surrender." Dean pushes the human to the wall, this time only with physical strength. He grabs a handful of Sam's hair to keep his head still while he leans closer and licks from Sam's throat to his cheekbone. "I'll stop fucking you so much once I win," he whispers, nipping at his ear.

Sam wrests himself away.

"Do you honestly think you can keep this up, Sam?" the other man asks as Sam walks away. "I'm being generous, letting you walk around like this even when I know you're not completely mine yet."

Sam says nothing, but he still refuses to accept the demon's touches after Dean follows him to his bedroom.

"It's funny to me," the demon says a couple minutes later as he thrusts into Sam, "because you don't actually want to say no. You enjoyed this before. All this resisting, it's just out of some sense of pride or dignity that you think you deserve. Just lie back and take it like the slut we both know you are."

*

A ray of hope appears while Dean is fucking Sam on the floor of his bedroom:

A pencil under Sam's desk. It must have fallen and rolled under there weeks, months ago.

He's supposed to tell Dean about it.

But he could keep it a secret. Find somewhere subtle to start drawing a devil's trap. Work on it fifteen seconds at a time, throw the pencil back.

Sam turns his head away from it. Best to not even think about it until Dean is gone.

*

He doesn't need to use it as a pencil, Sam reflects that night. He could just use it to stab Dean, get some blood into his mouth. But again, he'll only get one shot at it.

It's hopeless, really.

Then why is he fighting at all, Sam wonders, if he's not going to bite when he has the chance?

Maybe this could be his way of letting Dean win without having to pick the final straw. Something as simple as giving up the one chance he has to trap Dean. Then he can simply crumble away under the demon's hands.

*

The next day is spent inwardly hemming and hawing about using the pencil. Sam watches the minutes tick by when Dean leaves him alone, but never makes his move.

*

In the library the next morning, Sam doesn't see Dean until it's too late. Without a word, the demon grabs him by the front of his shirt and picks him up out of the armchair he's in. He slams Sam down on the nearest table with bruising force. The corner of a book cuts Sam's face.

Dean skips unbuttoning and unzipping Sam's jeans; he yanks them down to the floor and as usual the next thing Sam hears is someone unbuckling a belt.

This time, Dean teases by rubbing against his cock against Sam as if he's not going to actually fuck him. It's even more jarring when the demon steps back and plunges three fingers into the human's ass. Satisfied that Sam is stretched enough—enough for Dean, that is—he shoves his cock into Sam.

Sam groans in pain as his brother's cock further abuses his already-raw flesh. Every hard thrust feels like someone is pummeling his insides. Dean's belt buckle stabs into his skin; the zipper scrapes against him.

Everything is pain.

The demon pulls out completely. Sam expects to feel come on him next, but instead Dean reaches around and starts to touch him. Dean's hand is sticky with something. After a few seconds of thought, Sam decides it's probably his own blood.

To Sam's dim relief, Dean lets go just before making him come. The relief is gone when the demon resumes fucking Sam just as hard as before.

Dean repeats the entire process twice. Sam never stops fighting against the magic grip keeping him still, even when his face is wet with tears. It's never going to end. Dean will not stop doing this.

Unless he goes limp. Dean will know if he stops struggling, and he might go away.

Yes, Sam decides. Surrender.

The habit of resistance is strong enough that he has to steel himself to end it. The demon comes before Sam makes himself give up. Pulling out, Dean pats the human on the back and walks away without a clue of how close he was to winning, for good.

Sam falls down to the floor once he's released, impact jarring his teeth.

*

Back in his bedroom, Sam makes the decision to draw a devil's trap right above the doorway. He's in the midst of deciding whether to start right now when Dean comes in.

Again, he doesn't get the dignity of a greeting before Dean pounces. He's stuck lying on his back. Dean uses his hand at first, so he can make comments about how fast Sam got hard for him, how horny he is, then finishes the human by sucking him off. He spits the come on Sam's face and proceeds to fuck him hard and fast. That part is over quickly, too. Sam doesn't lose resolve this time; he endures and resists even while stifling whimpers of pain.

When it's over, he doesn't move for minutes, even to wipe off his face.

If Dean doesn't hate Sam when he's human again, he'll hate himself. Anything he doesn't blame Sam for, he'll shoulder. He's going to remember doing this to Sam and torture himself over it. Maybe he'll run away again.

Sam spends so much time wondering if turning Dean into a human would only be a Pyrrhic victory, the demon comes back with a meal. Sam's mind turns to thoughts of mild self-resentment for enjoying the salad Dean prepared. Demon or not, he never imagined his brother of all people would be good at working with produce in the kitchen.

*

Dean clears away the dish and cutlery and doesn't come back for a while. Now is the perfect time to strike, Sam thinks. He gets as far as kneeling on the floor to look at the pencil.

But he doesn't take it. He just can't make himself do it; he doesn't know why.

He heads to the shower instead and soon learns that was a mistake.

"Dean, why are you doing this?" he demands as Dean pushes him against the tile wall. "Just tell me!'

The demon refuses to answer no matter what Sam says. The only reaction he ever gives to sounds coming out of Sam's mouth is when he clamps a hand over it to muffle the shouts of pain.

Sam loses his balance when Dean pulls out and backs away. He loses track of time sitting crumpled on the floor of the shower, hot spray of the shower beating on him, rust-colored water going down the drain. He can't remember whether he fought. It was just a few minutes ago but the information simply isn't there. In a daze, he summons the strength to stand up, turn off the water, and limp to his room.

He lies on his bed naked and tired but in too much pain to sleep. If the demon comes back to hurt him again, Sam will break. He will not fight anymore, not today. It's time to act, now or never.

And yet when he gets out of bed twenty minutes later, all he bothers to do is head to his bureau to grab a pair of jeans. An old pair that already has bloodstains on it. He hobbles back to his bed, lies down again before pulling on his pants.

He doesn't sleep. He stares at nothing, planning his words carefully. All he wants is to not get fucked again for at least twenty-four hours.

*

He's snapped out of his thoughts when Dean shows up again at the foot of his bed, shirtless.

Treacherous tears immediately fill the human's eyes. He can't take another round, not so soon.

"There's a pencil underneath the desk," he confesses in one breath as Dean takes a step closer.

His vision is blurred; he only hears the smile when the demon replies.

"I know."

"What?" Sam blinks as he lifts his head.

"I put it there to test you, made sure you saw it. I've been watching. It hasn't moved an inch."

"Did I pass the test?"

"I'd say so." Dean gets on the bed, climbing over Sam's body on his hands and knees. He stops when his knees are by Sam's hips and his hands are by Sam's shoulders. There's no need to hold the human still.

"You said I passed. Please, Dean, not again. Just give me twelve hours alone."

"Are you giving yourself up to me, Sam?" Dean grabs his brother by the jaw. "Look me in the eye!"

Sam looks up at his black-eyed captor, searching for a trace of sentiment. Something for him to hold onto, something to fight for.

There is nothing.

His big brother is dead and has been for a long, long time.

"I'm yours, Dean," the human whispers.

Dean's lips spread in a smile. His grip on Sam's face becomes a caress.

"Prove it."

With a shaking hand, Sam reaches up, pulls Dean's head closer by the back of the neck. For the first time since the revelation that this is a corpse, he presses their lips together. There's hesitation before the demon reciprocates.

It makes Sam feel better, about everything really, and he doesn't know why. Maybe because the distracting scent of demon blood is absent. Maybe because he's not being hurt.

His tongue slips past warm lips to taste his brother's mouth—it's still his brother's body he's touching—and the demon is compliant. It knows. This is victory. The prize: all the affection and loyalty Sam held toward his big brother for as long as Sam lives.

Wrapping his arms around Dean, Sam imagines that he could make himself love the demon, make himself happy like this.

Their lips part briefly and Dean says one word as a reward:

"Sammy."

The kiss resumes while some nameless emotion clicks inside Sam. The demon has called him Sammy dozens of times but it was to taunt or to get something out of him. This was just plain _"Sammy."_

It's not real. Sam will hear it a hundred, a thousand more times in all likelihood, but it will never be real.

That's almost as bad as realizing he'd been fucking his dead brother's possessed corpse. It's perversion; it's an abomination.

He could look past murder and everything else Dean the demon has done and will do. Hell, Dean as a human has done things just as bad and Sam has forgiven it. But that "Sammy" and everything else the demon might say aren't real, and that's too much for him. He'd rather risk never hearing it again than listen to his brother's voice saying it, saying a million other things that sound like Dean but are lies because he's a demon. Demons lie. Demons act. Demons feel nothing.

He's not wanted by his brother for sex; he's wanted by a demon for sex. And yes, he could make himself love a demon, but it wouldn't be Dean, and it would be wrong.

That's it, then. That's why he'll rally himself and take his shot. If he fails, he'll be in the dungeon forever, and that's okay because if he won't fight for his human brother, that's where he belongs.

Dean's lip, the first place Sam drank his blood from, is right there. The demon will heal himself quickly, but with how powerful Dean's blood is, Sam doesn't need much to be able to hold Dean still.

So he sucks Dean's lower lip into his mouth as if he's simply being passionate. Before he risks giving himself away by tensing, Sam bites down as hard as he can.


	12. Chapter XI - Garnet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garnet is a deep red gemstone. It is the birthstone for January.

There's demon blood in Sam's mouth. He swallows it. Dean pulls away, cursing loudly. There's no time for the demon to act before Sam holds out his hand and stills him. He sits up and with his body as well as with magic shoves Dean down onto his back.

The demon's head hangs off the edge of the bed, his throat bared. Sam can smell the blood now. There's no knife or broken glass for cutting Dean's flesh; without further hesitation Sam tears the skin open with his teeth.

The demon heals every wound the second he's able. It doesn't stop Sam from repeating the action, getting half a mouthful of blood every time.

By the time he stops, he feels his brother's body shaking under him. With laughter.

"What's so funny?" he demands, wiping his mouth.

"You're like an animal," Dean tells him, a grin on his face as he lifts his head. "I can't believe this bloodthirsty freak on top of me wants to turn me human. I don't think you even know what that is."

Sam looks at the rusty-red smear on the back of his hand, his brother's blood on his skin. Nausea creeps up as he realizes he's excited; he was getting a sort of thrill out of it.

"Go find a mirror, Sam. See what I see. Look at the blood all over your face. Taste it in your mouth."

"I'm doing what I have to."

"You just ripped your brother's throat out. With your teeth. For demon blood. What is he going to think of that? What's he going to think of you?"

"I don't- I don't care."

"Oh, you care a lot. See, I've figured it all out. When I was human, the shit I pulled to keep you alive... it was low, real low. You were telling the truth when you said you wouldn't do the same. But not because you don't care. No, just because you're so damn scared of your brother hating you that you'd let him die first. If you were positive that he wouldn't forgive you, you'd let me stay a demon."

"You've killed people because of the Mark. You'll kill more people if I don't stop you. That's more important than what my brother thinks of me."

"Says the guy who both started _and_ gave up Trials to close the _goddamn Gates of Hell_ because of what his brother thought of him. You're not going to win, Sam. You won't give up your brother's love for anything."

Sam looks into Dean's eyes, leaning close.

"If the real you were here, you'd tell me to do whatever it took to get you back. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. There's nothing I wouldn't give up if you asked me to." Sam pauses, imagining his brother asking the impossible of him. His voice trembles a little: "That includes any chance of you speaking to me again."

The easy-going expression fades from the demon's face.

" _You're_ not going to win, Dean," Sam continues. "You can't promise or tell me anything to stop me from making this right."

*

Dean is quiet and compliant after that. Sam fixes the devil's trap in the dungeon and leaves Dean there while he finds the demon handcuffs—first taking a detour to the infirmary for heavy-duty painkillers. His instincts guide him to the kitchen, where he has to take a good ten minutes just to break the door down. He's rewarded for his efforts by finding the demon handcuffs (as well as the demon-killing knife and a number of other useful items) hidden in a little-used drawer. In under an hour, the demon is securely tied and cuffed to a chair.

Sam has a lot of lock-picking to do, but he eventually steps out of the bunker for the first time in over two weeks and is able to pray to Hannah. He waits a minute or two before she appears, again without a vessel.

"Hannah, I have Dean. I'm ready to remove the Mark."

_I arranged to borrow the demon tablet for one hour. I will give it to you once you have removed the angel warding from this place._

Sam agrees and gets to work. He checks on Dean every ten to fifteen minutes as he scours the bunker for sigils. His brother is withdrawn, subdued in more than just a physical sense. Sam doesn't know what to make of it. It might be an act. It might be that Dean has accepted defeat.

Once he's found and erased enough sigils, he returns to Dean one more time. With a knife, he cuts Dean's forearm and bleeds him into a cup. The demon looks up at him.

"Sure you don't want to do it the way you liked, cutting my tongue open?"

"I can't," Sam replies, keeping his eyes on the cup and the blood flowing into it.

"Sure you can."

"I shouldn't."

"So you want to."

"You're not going to get to me by making me face things I don't want to. You've seen what I'll do for demon blood. It's too late for me to lie and say I don't want it."

"Imagine that, you being straight with me about demon blood," the demon scoffs. "You could barely say the words a couple years ago. Now you can look me in the eye and admit you want to suck it from my tongue."

Sam lifts the cup to his lips, meeting Dean's gaze the entire time. He swallows the contents in one gulp.

"It's too late to lie," he repeats.

The display seems to sober Dean again.

*

It's a two-minute walk to where Hannah leaves the tablet—the angel said a quarter of a mile south of the bunker, in a clearing among the trees. There's a small circle of melting ice and scorched earth around it and it's hot when Sam picks it up. He holds it against his chest as he jogs back to the bunker.

*

Dean straightens up when Sam enters the dungeon, tablet in hand.

"Where did you get that?"

"I had help."

"Sam, listen to me. If you remove the Mark, I swear _on my mother_ I'll kill myself before you can cure me."

The oath is a serious one. The demon is so full of spite it would rather die than let Sam win.

"I won't let you," Sam counters.

"I'll find a way."

"No, you won't."

"Keep going, Sam. See what it costs you."

Sam looks at the slab of stone in his hands. Cas's message said if he had demon blood in him, he should be able to tap into it. There's plenty of demon blood running through him, but he doesn't sense any especial power from the tablet. That is, until he tries to reach for it with his mind.

It's a hundred, a thousand times more potent than Lilith, Crowley, Alistair, Dean, or any other demon he's ever encountered, combined tenfold. It's a different kind of power, though. Demons are entities, individual units. Sam can only push them around, hurt them, send them back to Hell, or destroy them. This Word of God is a nexus of unlimited magic energy, there for the taking of anyone who knows how.

Sam finds it's very similar to pulling a demon out of the body it's possessing. He's simply pulling the power out of the tablet, but instead of sending it to Hell he's taking it inside himself.

Suddenly, everything is... simpler yet infinitely more complex. He can look at anything at a quantum level to understand the nature of it. It seems like it would be the easiest thing to just move around some protons and electrons to completely change His surroundings to whatever He wants. Turning water into wine would be a dumb parlor trick. He can look at His own hand and see through His skin into His tissues and blood to see how the demon blood permeates His entire being. He can examine His own soul. There's something decidedly unclean and demonic surrounding it.

His pitch-black eyes turn to Dean.

The demon's true horrific face is behind His brother's face; in fact Dean's entire body is flooded with demonic presence. For the first time Sam can truly perceive the difference between demon blood and human blood. But there's a lot more running through Dean than just demon juice.

The Mark's essence is omnipresent in Dean as well. The literal Mark on Dean's forearm is glowing with power, tinting the rest of him with something very much like but separate from his demonic nature.

It will be tricky, but removing the Mark from Dean's body is very, very possible now.

Sam feels giddy and nauseated as He realizes that right now, anything He can imagine is possible. Life. Death. Fate. He understands the nature of Fate and He could create it if He wanted to.

"...Oh my god, you're God," Dean says, staring at the superhuman.

"I'm not trying to be," Sam replies when He can focus enough to accomplish the task of speaking without distraction from synapses firing and muscles contracting and air moving and vocal cords vibrating. He could get lost in just how His brain functions, let alone the rest of His body. It's just as easy to heal His damaged flesh as it is to lubricate His eyeballs with a blink.

"Sam, you don't have to remove the Mark. You have the power to do fucking anything. You could change your own memories so you could let me go and not care. You could keep the tablet and just _be God_."

"I told Hannah I'm only going to use the tablet to remove the Mark. That's all I'm going to do."

Dean is unable to move or speak while Sam psychically reaches for the Mark. It's like a venomous snake fang embedded in flesh, eternally poisoning His brother with the need to kill. Sam draws it out, turns the scar back into Dean's normal flesh. It takes immense effort but the demon tablet obliges Him.

The effects of the Mark are still inside Dean. It's simple enough for Sam to take a few billion cells at a time and clean that specific darkness from His brother's body. It's tedious but thirty minutes later, Dean Winchester is largely free from the Mark of Cain. The rest of it will soon dissipate on its own.

Despite the accomplishment, Dean is laughing at Him when Sam withdraws. This time it's easy to guess why: Sam's body is burning up with the divine power. His skin is starting to look like Lucifer's first vessel.

"All that mojo inside you, Sammy, cooking your brain in your own skull. ...At least now you can see it for yourself, how filthy and corrupt you are. You really think your blood can cure me when you're so rotten to the core? Even if you can do it, you don't deserve to put your blood in your brother's body."

Sam agrees.

It has never been a question in Sam's mind: if He could get all the demon blood out of Him, forever, He would. The Trials almost purified Him, but just as Crowley became a full demon again after the aborted attempt to cure him, the feeling of uncleanliness returned.

It might not work, but Sam doesn't care. He told Hannah that He would only use the tablet to remove the Mark from Dean. Now He's going to make sure He can never do anything else with the tablet.

He draws in as much power from the tablet as He can. Then He starts to scrub away Azazel's influence. For over 31 years, it's been inside Him, growing and spreading to the subatomic level. But He has the power of God right now, and He can cleanse His body of this.

The more Sam purifies Himself, the harder it gets. He's erasing His own ability to use the demon tablet, but as long as He can draw power and use it, He'll persevere.

Sam assumes that His soul will be cloudy and demonic throughout. Instead, when He clears away the darkness around it He's greeted by nothing but pure humanity. There's no time to dwell on the meaning of that; He's simply grateful for one less project.

His entire body aches and burns; He soothes it while he's still able. He's getting lightheaded and His grip on the tablet is faltering.

At last, Sam can absorb no more power from the stone. Dean's blood is still physically in Sam's body but the ability to use the magic within it is gone.

With little left to grip it, the power of God drains away like water through a sieve.

"Sam?"

Slowly, he looks up from the tablet to the demon, still cuffed to the chair. The demon's eyes are black, the way Sam's never will be again, and Dean's head is tilted like he's studying a strange new entity.

Sam takes a deep breath. He doesn't need to detox; he's almost completely clean. He hasn't felt so close to what he imagines "normal" to feel like since the Trials. He checks his watch. Hannah will want the tablet back any minute now. He broke his word about not using it for anything but removing the Mark, but maybe the angel won't comment on any differences in him.

*

"Thank you, Hannah. I owe you. When Dean's human again, he'll owe you, too."

_Castiel had a lot of faith in you and Dean. He had many great things to say about both of you._

Sam doesn't know how to apologize to an angel for indirectly killing her brother.

"He gave us too much credit."

Hannah takes that as a signal to leave.

_Goodbye, Sam. I wish you luck._

The human nods to return the goodbye as both angelic presence and tablet vanish. Head throbbing, he turns and goes back into the bunker.

*

There's an abandoned church two hours away from Lebanon that will make an ideal spot for curing a demon. Sam had chosen it in the early days of the deal with Dean, back when he really thought he could drink demon blood for a few weeks, kill Crowley, and just come back from all that.

Dean is quiet during the drive. Mostly, he stares down at his arm. Sam resists the urge to ask him how he's feeling, knowing he'll only get a sarcastic reply.

Sam keeps to himself, mulling over what's happened in the past four months, and the past couple weeks specifically. He doesn't hold himself responsible for any sexual encounters that happened after detox. He did kiss Dean, but that wasn't sex. He's not twelve; he's not going to make a kiss into a big deal. He was lost and defeated.

He noticed, when he finally found his phone after tying up Dean, that the date is January 24th, 2015. It's Dean's thirty-sixth birthday.

Losing the Mark _and_ being human again will be a hell of a present.

*

It's about seven-thirty at night when Sam gets his brother into the old Catholic church. He takes the time to make sure Dean is completely secured to the chair he puts in the center of the devil's trap he paints, choosing a location that he can keep an eye on from the confessional.

"So did you figure out what your greatest sin is this time?" Dean asks.

Sam doesn't answer the question. He's spent too long pondering to discuss it. He makes sure all the necessary items are present and then heads to the claustrophobic little structure. He closes the curtain behind him, leaving it open just enough for him to be able to check on the demon if he turns his head.

There is no need for an examination of conscience.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Sam says just above a whisper in the darkness of the confessional.

"I-..."

Hours spent thinking about this, and he still has to search for the right words.

"...My brother was killed."

He did a lot of things he isn't proud of during those six weeks he was searching for Dean, things that real demons raised eyebrows at. But he isn't going to confess those things.

"I defiled my brother's corpse.

"I cut him open and drank his blood... too many times to count." Sam exhales, bracing himself, before continuing. "And I fu- I _fornicated_ with his body. There were seven incidents I initiated and ten more that I allowed to happen.

"Dean's body was in my care. With complete knowledge and consent, I desecrated it, I desecrated _him_. And I enjoyed it.

" _Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum, sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia tua, de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum._ Amen."

A feeling of cleanliness descends and Sam knows his blood is purified, but it's little comfort when the only absolution that truly matters to him is what he'll receive—or be denied—in eight hours from his brother.

He clears his throat a couple times before wiping his eyes and returning to his brother.

His blood runs cold when he gets close and sees what Dean has done to himself.

"Dean!"

"Sammy, I told you if you take away the Mark, I'll kill myself before you can cure me."

Blood is flowing from the demon's wrists where he's pulled so hard at the cuffs that he's torn through both his sleeves and flesh. Gory splinters of bone have pierced through what Sam can see of Dean's skin. More are poking little lumps in his clothing.

"No!"

"Some of these bones are real important, Sam." Dean pauses and jerks his head with a sickening crack. Something shifts in his neck. There's a new wet quality to Dean's voice. "Like that one." A dark purple bruise starts to form under his skin.

"Stop it!" Sam can't touch his brother no matter how his heart is pounding in panic and his muscles twitch with adrenaline. Unrestrained yet powerless to affect the forces destroying Dean, he doesn't know what to do other than beg. He'd rather relive Dean being ripped apart by hellhounds than go through this. "Please, Dean, stop!"

"No. You didn't stop when I told you what I would do, so I'm not stopping now. You can 'cure' me, get your brother back, but all that's gonna happen next is him dying a miserable death." Blood starts to run from the corner of Dean's mouth as he smiles at Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was keeping count: seven [dub-con] sex scenes were offscreen.


	13. Chapter XII - Kermes, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"And the tabernacle you are to make of ten tent cloths, of fine twisted linen and blue thread and wool dyed reddish purple and coccus scarlet material. With cherubs, the work of an embroiderer, you will make them."_  
> -Exodus 26:1
> 
> Coccus scarlet, also known as kermes, is a red dye made primarily from female insects of the species _Kermes vermilio_. The names crimson and carmine are derived from kermes and many languages have a word for red with the same etymology due to the widespread use of this dye, e.g. in the Tabernacle used by the Israelites. Nowadays, "tabernacle" can refer to any place or house of worship.

The church is so isolated, there's no chance of anyone hearing Sam's voice getting shriller and more frantic.

"Stop doing this, Dean, please! Just stop!"

"Why should I?"

"I'm begging you," Sam says, voice already hoarse.

"What part of the black eyes aren't you getting, Sam? There's no empathy hiding anywhere in here, Sam. There's nothing for you to reach. It's all black smoke in here." Dean's nose has started to bleed, from both nostrils. His upper lip and front teeth are stained red.

Sam grabs a syringe. He jabs it into his vein and draws his purified blood.

"Not for much longer," he tells Dean as he injects blood into the demon's arm.

The demon hisses in pain.

"You're really going to go through with this, aren't you?" he pants, "You'll cure your brother so he can die human."

Sam blinks away tears as he forces a small smile. He doesn't need to say it.

He checks his watch—7:49 PM.

*

"Waiting sucks," Dean says around ten minutes later.

Sam scoffs. That aspect of Dean never changed to begin with.

"When I'm human, will you be able to look me in the eye when you think about the way we've touched each other?"

As it is, Sam can't look at Dean at all. The demon has stopped further destroying his body, but it's still sickening and heartrending to look at. Sam's attempts to tie bandages around Dean's wrists resulted only in further damage.

"We've beaten the shit out of each other before. We were fine."

"You're comparing rimming and bloodsucking to that?"

"We'll get past this, Dean."

"Maybe you will. Your brother is the one who has to deal with hundreds of memories of you drinking his blood."

Sam shifts, drawing in on himself.

"We're going to take this one step at a time, Dean."

*

They don't say much to each other as they wait. Sam is sitting on the floor leaning against a pew, facing Dean.

The demon has a sullen expression, when Sam can bear to look.

"Do you know why I'm giving up, Sam?"

With a sigh, Sam responds. He expects sarcasm.

"Why are you giving up?"

"Because we always come out on top. As humans. You're on the side that's always won so far. I'm not dumb; once I'm human again I'll be glad you stuck with it. Hell, maybe I've known this would happen all along. Why else would I let you live? Why else would I tell myself I could make you give up on me?"

There's a lump in Sam's throat as he thinks back to just a few hours ago. Dean sees the emotion in his face.

"Except you really were gonna roll over for me back there. I saw, Sam. I won, my way, for like three seconds. What the hell made you change your mind?"

"...You called me Sammy like you meant it."

"And?"

"I realized it wasn't my brother saying it. My _brother_ is the only one to gets to call me that."

Dean nods, acknowledging the mistake.

"Like I said, Sam, nothing's going to break what we had. ...I think that's why I'm so hot for you. So much of me was you, when the Mark turned me, it had to go somewhere. I didn't kill you when I should've because I wanted to have you first. Then when I did, I wanted it again."

"I guess I have your downstairs brain to thank for keeping me alive, then."

"You realize when I have a conscience again, it's going to kill me to think about the past two weeks."

Sam doesn't reply to that.

*

It's 8:49 PM. Cringing as he touches the demon, Sam delivers another injection.

Dean makes eye contact afterwards.

"I don't actually want to be human, Sam. Given the choice, I'd walk out of here, heal up, and head to the nearest dive."

Sam sets down the needle and takes up his seat on the floor again.

"You'd probably have to kill me."

"...Guess I would."

*

"I wish this stupid cure would start working already," Dean grumbles.

" _You_ wish?"

"I just want out of here, but you're not going to let me go. All I have to look forward to is eventually wanting the cure."

"That's a start."

"It's common sense, Sam." The demon falls silent for a few seconds. Then he perks up.

"What?" Sam asks.

"I think I should start fucking myself up again. When you crying stops making me smile, we'll know the cure is working."

"No, don't! Don't do it!"

Dean shifts as much as his restraints allow. Sam doesn't hear anything, but soon the demon starts coughing up blood. A lot of it.

Sam hides his face in his hands.

"Dean, stop it, please."

"Hey, I'll just do it every ten minutes or so."

Ten minutes pass and Dean makes good on his promise. When Sam dares to look, he's greeted with the sight of a patch of blood spreading on Dean's shirt. Part of a rib is protruding from his body.

"What the hell will make you stop, Dean?!"

"Until I grow back some compassion, nothing that you're willing to do."

Sam takes a couple deep breaths to calm his stomach. He blinks a few times and clears his throat.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this if you don't stop destroying your body. You'll be stuck there a lot longer if I can't finish the job."

"Nah. You're strong enough to keep going."

The human has to stifle his sudden laughter to prevent himself from throwing up.

"What the fuck are you smiling about?" the demon asks, indignant.

"That's the one thing I hope you feel guilty about. The only thing that should fucking tear you apart inside is every nice, uplifting thing you told me as a demon."

"Funny enough, that's not on my list of things I expect to feel bad about."

*

Injection number three doesn't seem to have an effect.

Apparently the demon decides to break one or two ribs every ten minutes, either puncturing his lung or puncturing his skin. Sam estimates it will take 3 hours for the demon to break all of them. The cure has to start working by then. He doesn't think he can hold out that long.

*

It's almost time for the fourth injection when Dean speaks abruptly.

"Sam, you know what flail chest is, don't you?"

His mind immediately recalls facts about it: when multiple adjacent ribs are broken in multiple places, separating a segment of the chest wall. As the person breathes, the broken-off part moves in the opposite direction from the rest of the chest wall. It invariably bruises the lung, which can lead to respiratory failure. It is life-threatening.

He only nods.

"Trust me when I say this would hurt like a bitch if I weren't a demon."

"Dean..." The younger man's voice is completely broken. He can't even make sound as he tries to say, _"Please stop."_ There's no need, anyway.

"We both know what will make me stop, and we both know you won't do it."

It's 10:48 when Sam checks his watch. Close enough, he decides.

Dean grunts in discomfort when the injection is delivered and still shows no signs of a renewed conscience.

*

"I'm bored with bones," Dean says, not quite twenty minutes later. "Maybe I should try to give myself an aneurysm. I bet I could."

"I can't watch you killing yourself," Sam chokes out as he stands and turns away. He goes back into the confessional, closes the curtain behind him. It's all he can do not to break into sobs.

What can he do? Let Dean go? If only the demon would stop talking about it, maybe Sam could press on, knowing Dean would want him to finish it just so he could die human. The way things are now, though, Sam can't endure the pain of watching what his brother is doing to himself. Seeing, hearing, being forced to think about it.

It's 11:48 when Sam unfolds himself from his near-fetal position in the confessional.

Part of him hopes Dean has somehow escaped. Instead, his brother is still in the chair, conscious and alert.

Without a word, Sam injects his own blood into his brother for the fifth time. He sets down the syringe and then faces the demon directly for the act of ultimate self-sabotage.

"Dean, I'm begging you with everything I have to stop hurting yourself. If I see or hear it one more time, I'm going to let you go. I can't sit around while my brother is ripping himself to pieces right in front of me."

Dean smiles as if he plans to take advantage of the information he's just been given, but suddenly the optimism is gone.

"No, I'm- I'm stopping, Sam."

"What?"

"Hurting you isn't fun anymore." The demon looks supremely uncomfortable with his admission.

"...The cure is working," Sam says, voice thick.

"Looks like."

"You're coming back."

"I'd still rather be a demon. It's just... I won't do it like that."

*

"Hey, um... Sam."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't mean it about the flail chest. My ribs are fucked up but I didn't go that far. I was just messing with you."

Sam has no idea whether to believe the demon. The only reason to lie would be to encourage him to continue.

"...You can cover these if it'll make you feel better," Dean says quietly, nodding at his wounds.

*

Sam hears something like a scoff. With difficulty, he looks up at the demon.

"I remember when you told me that I was just scared to be alone. Can't say that didn't hit the nail right on the head."

"Is that why you were riding with Crowley?"

Dean smiles.

"Maybe. Question is, are you going to be there after you cure me?"

"Of course I am."

"Even when I won't look you in the eye? No matter what I say or do?"

"No matter what, Dean."

"Do you realize how many things I'm going to blame on you?"

"Yes."

"You let me kill people. You let me kill Cas. You drank my blood too many times for either of us to count. And god, when we fucked..."

"I'm not denying it."

"I'm a demon, Sam. You're not. What's your excuse?"

"I don't have one. All I can say is that I'm sorry and I don't know how to make it up to you."

"You do have an excuse. I ain't takin' back what I said about you going off the rails without big brother Dean keeping on eye on you. I was playing you from the start. Every time we fucked, Sam, that was a power play. I raped you, and _you_ just apologized."

"I don't want to have an excuse."

"No, you just don't want to think that your brother has so little faith in you that he doesn't blame you for how much you've fucked up."

"After everything I've done, Dean, I think whatever faith you had in me before is long gone."

"But you're staying with me?"

Sam frowns.

"Yeah, of course."

"Good," the demon says, averting his eyes.

*

About two minutes after injection number six, Sam hears a sniffle. He glances at Dean's face long enough to see his brother blinking rapidly.

"It's going to be okay, Dean."

"How do you know?"

"We're going to be brothers again."

" _How?_ In what universe can we come back from this?"

"We always do."

"What if this is the time we don't? What if I've hurt you too much? What if I have nightmares about the way you looked at me when you wanted demon blood? What if I can't stop thinking about the times I made you feel good?"

On his knees, Sam makes his way to his seated brother. He feels sick as the smell of Dean's blood gets stronger; he stares into his brother's eyes and at nothing else. He places his hands on either side of Dean's face as gently as possible.

"I swear to you, as long we keep trying, we can heal from this."

"You're gonna have to believe for the both of us, Sam, because I can't."

"We got this far, Dean."

"Only 'cause you got us here. And you still have to carry me. I'm sorry, Sam. If one of us is taking care of the other it should be me. That's the way it's always been."

"Let me do it for once, okay? I just spent six months failing to take care of you. Give me a chance to do it right."

Sam's brother smiles a little.

*

It's 1:49 in the morning.

"Just one more hour, Dean."

Dean smiles.

Lightheaded as he is, Sam steels himself to visually examine his brother.

"You don't have to look, Sam," the demi-demon says when he notices. "I can tell you what my injuries are."

"What's the prognosis?"

"It's better than it looks. I was just trying to freak you out. I promise you, once the cure is done, you'll have time to call 911."

"You broke your neck, Dean."

"Yeah but I didn't fuck up my spinal cord or anything, I swear. Maybe before you finish the cure you should let me lie on the floor and support my head or something. Let the EMTs move me."

"You've lost a lot of blood."

"Then they'll give me some more."

"Dean, honestly-"

"Honestly, Sam, I am going to be okay." Dean looks his little brother in the eye.

"Tell me the truth."

"I am. I've done enough lying to you. If I thought I was going to die, I'd be crying my eyes out asking for forgiveness. I'm not. It will wait."

Sam takes out his phone and locates the nearest ER. It's twenty minutes away. He supposes if Dean thinks he'll be okay after eight hours untreated, he can wait for an ambulance.

*

At 2:42, Sam figures out how to test whether Dean is telling the truth.

"Dean, I wanted to wait until the cure was done, but... will you forgive me for the things I did to you?"

"Do you really have to ask, Sam?"

"Please say it."

"I'll say it when I'm human. It's what ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Tell me what you're going to say."

"Sam, you know what I'm going to say."

"I don't."

"You can't not know."

"You said you don't know if we can get past this. What is that supposed to mean?"

Dean seems perplexed but he doesn't bite.

"You can wait ten minutes, Sam."

Sam nods, lips pressed tightly together.

"Want me to untie you?" he asks to change the subject.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

With the utmost care, Sam guides his brother into a reclining position on the floor. He takes off his jacket and spends several minutes arranging it under Dean's head.

"That's perfect, Sam. You can stop."

The younger brother checks his watch. It's time.

He makes the final injection, and then gets the holy water. Dean flinches as it burns him but makes no sound. Sam takes out his knife; his brother takes a deep breath.

" _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra!_ " Vision blurred with tears of promised relief, Sam cuts his palm. He presses it over Dean's open mouth. " _Lustra!_ "

He closes his eyes against the blinding light that comes from Dean's eyes.

*

Sam is relieved to see Dean looking up at him.

"Dean?"

"Thanks'ammy," the older man gasps out. He closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his face.

"Dean?! Dean!" Sam presses his fingers to Dean's neck. There's the barest trace of a pulse. He's not breathing; his body is limp. _"_ ** _Dean!_** _"_

The idiot lied to him. He even denied them both the chance to forgive each other. He's going to be dead by the time the 911 dispatcher knows where they are.

Who is there to pray to? Cas is dead.

Isn't this what happened when he gave up the trials? Dean was frantic and prayed to any angel who would listen.

"Hannah, I don't know if you care, but Dean's dying. If you can help, please come."

He expects nothing. To his surprise, Sam hears the ringing of an angel descending. The room fills with light.

"Hannah?"

_I heard your prayer._

"I know you've given me a lot of help already, but Dean's dying. Can you keep him alive long enough for me to get help? Please, I'm begging you-"

_An angel's duty is to protect humanity. I felt your desperation; you don't have to beg any further._

"You'll heal him?"

_I would, but I require a vessel in order to do so. I have sworn to never again take a vessel who does not fully understand what they are consenting to._

Sam's breath catches in his throat.

"You're asking to possess me."

_I feel it is fair._

It is fair, Sam admits to himself. He's the one asking for a favor, he's the one who should pay. But saying yes to an angel... possession is never a good thing.

Dean would never ask him to say yes to an angel to save him. He was clearly ready to die.

If Dean dies, is Sam willing to go on without him? How far will he go to bring his brother back? Will he go too far? Will he end up paying a price higher than consenting to an angel?

Hell, if Dean dies, will whatever's left of the Mark in him have an effect? What if there's just enough left of it in him to turn him into a demon again? It's unlikely but nothing's impossible.

In a way, it's safer to say yes. If Hannah isn't Hannah, or if she's lying, or if she changes her mind, Sam won't have to face his brother's disapproval for everything that's happened. Dean never actually said he would forgive Sam. Maybe this is why he was so willing to die, so he wouldn't have to deal with the pain of them being broken.

In which case, letting Dean die might be the best option.

It's death, Sam reminds himself as he wipes tears of frustration off his face. They've faced death as often as they've faced possession, and Sam would rather die than be possessed, a hundred times over. Dean knew that perfectly well when he helped Gadreel trick him. Sam would find a way to bring his brother back from the dead before forcing Dean to accept possession.

All Dean wanted was to be cured. Sam told himself a few hours ago that's all he wanted, too. He did it. He cured Dean all by himself. He should be _proud_ of that, for god's sake.

He doesn't want to be proud of it if Dean's dead.

He doesn't want anything if Dean's dead, except Dean.

If Dean is gone, Sam could just end the vicious cycle of life and death and deals and mistakes right here and now. There's at least one loaded pistol in the car. He has a sharp knife on him. There's rope on the floor.

Sam has choices. Call 911 and let himself be stupid and optimistic enough to think they'll get here in time. Let Dean die and then try get him back. Let Dean die and try to go on without him. Let Dean die and stick a gun in his mouth. All of the above. Or trust the angel who's been strangely helpful despite being one of the few still-living beings to threaten Dean's life. And maybe have to go through all of the former choices anyway.

He's spent all night watching his brother destroying his own body, powerless to stop it. He's not in his right mind, at all.

_Sam, your brother doesn't have long. Do you consent to be my vessel?_


	14. Chapter XIII - Kermes, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"In brotherly love have tender affection for one another. In showing honor to one another, take the lead."_  
>  -Romans 12:10

As if Sam could have let go of a chance to save his brother's life.

"Yes."

He closes his eyes and waits for that hellish feeling of an entity entering and seizing control of his body.

*

Hannah blinks and flexes her new hands as she gains her bearings.

She's allowing Sam to observe, but all it's reminding him of is when Lucifer wanted to let him feel Dean's bones breaking. If there weren't an angel regulating his body, he'd probably be having a physical panic attack.

 _Please fix my brother,_ he begs the angel.

 _I don't wish to subdue your consciousness but your emotions are making it difficult for me to do what we agreed,_ Hannah informs him, with a dim sense of awkwardness.

Sam doesn't apologize but he does make an effort to focus on something less distressing than the thought of an angel being in control when his brother is on the edge of death.

He's already feeling the instinct to lie about this. This was a bad idea and even if it works out, he doesn't want Dean to know he took the risk. He can tell Dean that Hannah came and healed him; he doesn't have to say that he was the vessel.

Hannah places a hand on Dean's chest and within seconds knits back together the broken bones, repairs torn flesh, replaces the blood he's lost, heals the bruises, and cleans his skin. She pauses when there's only one injury left: his crushed spinal cord. For that, she presses two fingers directly to his neck.

 _He will wake up soon,_ the angel says to Sam.

_Does that mean you're done?_

_Yes._

_Thank you for saving my brother._

_Sam, you've given up your life and your sanity for Dean. You threw yourself into the Cage with the most powerful and wrathful of my brothers to save him. You would rather repeat those than risk letting an angel use your body to hurt others. You deserve recognition from Dean that you faced one of your greatest fears to save his life._

_I don't want him to forgive me out of guilt or obligation. ...Please just leave now._

_Goodbye, Sam._ Hannah departs through Sam's mouth as a wisp of blue grace.

He slumps over for a few seconds, struggling to remain conscious. When he can summon the strength, he sits up and cradles his brother. Dean is breathing, his pulse is strong, and he's warm. All things the demon replicated, except the demon never feigned unconsciousness. This is real.

His brother is alive. Neither of them are damned to Hell, they're both human, they haven't let out any archangels or monsters from Purgatory, and even though he owes Hannah a huge favor, she's the most reasonable being they've been indebted to in a long time.

Today is almost shaping up to be a good day, Sam realizes.

Dean shifts in his brother's arms as his eyes flutter open.

"Sam."

"Hey," Sam greets.

Dean sits up, clutching at the front of Sam's shirt with one fist as he looks around.

"What the hell did you do? How am I alive?" He feels his face, noting the absence of dried blood.

"Would you believe there's such thing as an altruistic angel who actually shows when you need them?"

"...An angel fixed me?"

"Yeah. She's gone now."

"Sam... are you okay?" Dean meets his brother's eyes.

The whole experience was less than two minutes, but any length of time being possessed is too long for Sam.

"I'll be fine. ...You're back."

"I'm back," Dean agrees.

They start to lean closer to hug, and neither of them especially means to do it but it's the most natural thing in the world at the moment to press their mouths together in a nervous kiss of relief.

Soon Dean's hand is tangling in his brother's hair; Sam is trying to pull him closer. He needs his brother, needs _Dean_. Now that he has him back, he doesn't care what stupid things he did to get here.

They stop once they realize what's happening but seem unable to pull away. Instead, their foreheads rest together, heat of their breaths warming each other's lips.

"Let's not have a stress hook-up," Dean says to break the awkward silence.

Sam scoffs in agreement. Or maybe lets out a sob. He's still crying, he realizes when his brother's thumb wipes a tear from his cheek.

"Thank you," Dean says. "Thank you so much, Sammy. You saved me."

"I'm sorry it took so long." Sam means to leave it at that, but the other apologies come spilling out, his voice breaking by the end: "I'm sorry I drank demon blood, especially from you, your blood. I let Cas die, I slept with you... I- I know I fucked up so much and I'm so sorry for all of it." Memories of his hallucination spring to mind; he finishes, "I don't know if I can even begin to make it up to you."

The elder brother strokes the younger's hair like he's trying to reassure them both.

"I don't blame you for what you did, Sam. And I promise, it's not because I don't believe in you. You were up against somebody who knows every low trick for getting under your skin. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for everything I did that hurt you."

Finally they pull away, but it's like separating magnets of opposite poles.

"You were a demon," Sam insists as they help each other to their feet. "You weren't you."

Dean keeps his eyes downcast.

"Doesn't mean we don't remember."

*

Soon enough they're driving away, Dean behind the wheel and Sam riding shotgun. The younger man is in a slight daze having lost nearly a pint of blood without any food or drink to make up for it and dehydrating himself through his eyes.

"Um, Sam," Dean begins just as Sam starts to drift off, "Whether or not you blame me, I did hurt you. A lot. If you need space, I get it. Just say the word."

He glances over to make sure Sam heard him.

Sam nods slightly, then turns toward his window. Does Dean mean that or is he just trying to be nice about telling him that _he_ needs some space? His brother doesn't want to be alone, but maybe there's someone else he'd rather be with after what's happened.

*

Sam is tired enough to collapse into his bed once they get back to the bunker without even turning on the light.

*

_He's standing in Dean's bedroom. Dean is leering at him with black eyes, then smoothing Sam's hair as a child brushes a doll's. He starts to undress Sam. Sam cannot move. His brother is going to hurt him. But Sam doesn't have a brother. He is nothing more than a mannequin. Mannequins don't have brothers._

Sam wakes up from a series of bad dreams, sweating and trembling. He stumbles out of his room, looking for Dean. He just needs to be sure his brother is human.

He's even dizzier and more light-headed than before; he has to keep a hand on the wall as he wanders in the direction of the kitchen. He smells food.

When he rounds the corner, he finds Dean seated at the table eating scrambled eggs and bacon.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

Nothing as long as Dean is sitting there, Sam thinks.

"Uh, I'll be fine. I just need something to eat."

"There's some for you," Dean says, gesturing to the stove.

After filling a plate, Sam seats himself across from his brother. He pauses before digging in, noticing the state of Dean's meal.

"How much fucking salt did you put on your eggs?"

"Like, a quarter of a cup." Dean grins. "All I can taste is salt. No hot sauce effect."

"...Are you drinking holy water?" Sam asks next when he notices a rosary on the table next to a half-empty glass of water.

" _Hell_ yes."

"What's special about the bacon?"

"It's bacon." Dean stuffs a whole piece in his mouth.

For a few minutes, Sam forgets his nightmares. His brother is human. His brother is happy.

*

Sam and Dean spend the rest of the day working on getting the bunker back to the way it was before. Sam is fixing the warding; Dean is unlocking doors and returning sharp objects and writing utensils to their rightful places. Sam stays focused on the task at hand; he ignores the negative feelings creeping up on him, feelings he doesn't want to name.

As he searches the bunker for broken sigils, he can't help but have thoughts such as _this is where Dean held me still and fucked my mouth, that's where I shoved him against the wall to suck his blood and his hair was still wet from the shower and it turned me on, around that corner is where he was standing when I looked at him and I was so damn thirsty for his blood he could see it and he almost looked scared._

The place doesn't feel much like home now. It's covered in emotional scars. Then again, maybe that's just what home is for the Winchesters.

In the late afternoon, Dean tells Sam that he's going to sleep for the first time in months. Sam smiles as his brother heads to his room.

He doesn't plan on sleeping, but Sam goes back into his own bedroom and looks around for the first time since he overpowered Dean.

There are drops of Dean's blood—is it still demon blood, Sam wonders—on the floor at the foot of Sam's bed. He was so vicious, tearing Dean's flesh with his teeth. The dark red-brown spots on some of the bedclothes must be from that, too.

The pencil is still under Sam's desk. He can't bring himself to retrieve it.

There are too many memories, Sam decides, of drinking Dean's blood and of getting fucked both willingly and unwillingly in this room. He will find no peace in this room, not for a long time.

Sam goes to the library. His laptop is sitting on a table. Dean must have left it there. Finally, Internet. Legitimate communication with the outside world for the first time in weeks.

As the computer boots up, Sam remembers. People know what he and Dean did. Probably every hunter who's ever heard of them knows. Fears them, maybe wants to hunt them. Every demon in Hell has to know. Probably even Michael and Lucifer in the Cage have somehow overheard. Lucifer must be laughing his fucking ass off, knowing that the Mark he created was the downfall of his rebellious vessel and his brother.

Sam and Dean have never been more alone.

*

When the younger Winchester finally does feel like he could sleep, he decides to retreat to a place Dean didn't ruin. With a pillow under one arm and a blanket under the other, he heads to the garage, to the Impala.

It's less of a surprise than it should be to find his big brother in the backseat. For whatever reason, Dean doesn't feel right sleeping in his bed, either.

For a good minute or two, Sam stands there watching his brother through the window like a world-class creep. It's just so comforting to think that Dean  _does_ sleep now.

Then, as quietly as he can, Sam opens the driver's side door and eases into the front seat. Dean must be exhausted to not notice, or maybe he's just pretending to still be asleep as Sam positions his pillow and wraps the blanket around himself.

He drifts off listening to his brother's breathing.

*

When Sam wakes up, he finds that a second blanket has been draped over him. Dean's blanket. One of the back doors is ajar just like the front door; Dean hadn't wanted to disturb his brother.

The next time they see each other, they say nothing about it. Sam admits that he's changing bedrooms; Dean says he is, too.

*

First, Dean helps Sam. They get almost all of the large furniture into Sam's new room.

Dean is quiet, even more so after he retrieves the pencil. Sam doesn't press the issue.

It's a struggle to ignore the tension building the longer Dean is with him. This isn't the same Dean who violated him. This Dean is his brother; this Dean is safe.

When they stand at opposite ends of Sam's bed, it's Dean who shakes his head.

"I can't do this anymore, Sam. I'm just going to move my stuff alone."

"Dean-"

"If I need another pair of hands, I'll ask. I'll help you with this later if you need me."

Sam feels much less anxious once his brother is gone from the room.

He sits down and holds his head in his hands. This isn't how he's supposed to feel. He's supposed to be happy that Dean is human again. He's supposed to be treasuring every second with him. He shouldn't feel a little spike of fear every time his own brother walks into the room.

*

Within three days of curing Dean, both brothers are settled in their new bedrooms. They're actually closer than their old rooms. Sam doesn't know how he feels about that.

Every morning when he wakes up, Sam finds a way to distract himself from the dreams he was just having. He manages to forget their content, but not the fact that they were all nightmares.

"Do you think we should look for a job? Some easy salt-and-burn?" Dean asks as they wait for a frozen pizza to heat up, leaning against the counter. Sam remembers when Dean bent him over it and fucked him.

"Do you think you should tell me what's eating you?"

"Sam..."

"Just tell me, please."

Dean crosses his arms and stares at the floor.

"I've been sleeping in the car ever since you cured me because I can't sleep in that bed after what I did to you in it. I go around the bunker thinking about all the times I hurt you or you sucked my blood. Now, if I feel like shit, how do you feel? And don't you dare say you're fine."

After some thought, Sam comes up with a truth he's willing to present.

"It'll get better."

Dean nods, like he already suspected.

"I know I broke something in you. I don't know how to fix it, but it sure as hell ain't telling you my problems."

Sam doesn't say anything. His brother is right; they can't shoulder each other's burdens this time. Or at least they shouldn't.

"I see you tense up when you notice me coming into a room," Dean continues. "You lock your door at night—good thing, too, because I'm the last guy who should wake you up from the nightmares you're having."

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"I've been finding excuses not to suggest it, but if it will help, Sam, I'll go. For as long as you want me to. Days, months, years, the rest of our lives. If staying away makes things easier for you, I'll do it."

"Dean, if you want me out, don't-"

"Can you honestly tell me that I'm _helping_ by being here?"

Sam's eyes fill with tears. That's the question he's been trying not to ask himself.

"You're my brother. How the hell do I tell you to get out when I just got you back?"

"I won't leave without your say-so." Finally Dean faces his brother. "I don't want to leave you, Sam. Ever. But I think it's the right thing to do."

*

The next day, they go out grocery shopping—not to the store where Dean cut his hand. Only then does it occur to Sam that the incident wasn't an accident.

Dean keeps music playing while they're in the car. They split up as soon as they get into the store and only reunite at the checkout line.

They get home. Sam takes most of their purchases to the kitchen, letting out a relieved breath once he can't hear his brother anymore.

*

It's been one week since Dean was cured. It also happens to be the day of the Super Bowl, the one time commercials are as good as the game, sometimes better. On Super Bowl Sunday, there are no bathroom breaks.

All of the usual ads are there: Doritos, Snickers, cars, a ridiculously hot chick. And then the more sobering ones that give them mood whiplash. Especially a particular one that ended with the words _Help end domestic violence and sexual assault._

 _"And now you're a textbook domestic abuse victim,"_ Sam's hallucination had told him.

No, Sam thinks. That ad was not applicable to him in the least. What happened between him and Dean was nothing like that kind of relationship, even if the demon was manipulating him. Dean wasn't physically abusing him until Sam was his prisoner. Also, they're brothers, not a couple.

Except the hallucination said something else, didn't it? Something Sam didn't agree with until the demon called him Sammy:

_"There's not enough left of your brother for you to use that excuse."_

So what if he took the brother factor out of the equation? What if he was manipulated and raped by just another a demon? It used Dean's face and knowledge and personality to get close and gain control, but it wasn't Dean.

Then maybe. Maybe Sam would count himself as the victim of something he assumed would never happen to him. Maybe he fell into the same traps others do. Maybe he let nostalgia and love and faith get in the way of recognizing things for what they were. At first, Sam even thought he would change Dean.

And maybe he's lucky in that he did get to literally change the demon back into his brother, but that doesn't erase experiences.

This Dean is safe. This Dean is his brother who would never intentionally hurt him.

But that face and body are the face and body that hurt him. And after what they did, it makes sense that he isn't just bouncing back from it within a couple days.

"Sam?"

The younger man blinks a few times as he comes out of his thoughts. Dean isn't paying attention to the TV; he's looking at Sam with concern.

"What?"

"Are you okay? You seem really out of it."

"...You're right, Dean."

"About what?"

"We need some time apart."

Dean's face falls; he says nothing.

"We both leave the bunker, head in opposite directions, and we don't talk for four weeks. We can clear our heads, interact with other human beings, try to figure out our next step," Sam says.

"Okay, then." Dean turns back to the game. The only intelligible word Sam hears from him for the rest of the evening is "'Night" as Dean leaves the room.

*

They're both ready to leave within about an hour of waking up the next morning.

Only physically ready. They're about to go their separate ways, a hand on each other's shoulder, and it feels so wrong.

They can't even say goodbye like brothers. Dean glances at Sam's lips; Sam tries not to look at Dean's. He only associates kissing Dean with affection or sating bloodthirst. He has no idea what Dean feels but they both seem to want it now. He pulls his brother into a hug before they can give in.

"...I'm sorry, Sam," Dean says.

"I'm sorry, too."

They leave each other with those apologies, not for what they did but for what they can't do.

*

After the first forty-eight hours away from Dean, it gets easier to metacognize.

Memories from Hell get shoved behind a kind of mental door. Memories of what a demon was doing to him a week and a half ago don't. Sam admits to himself that four weeks apart from his brother won't do all that much, for either of them.

*

His dreams aren't intense enough to be called nightmares, but they are stressful. He wakes up alone in his motel room at four in the morning and lies there thinking about Dean and love and abuse and fear until his alarm goes off two hours later.

The pattern repeats for several consecutive days; he still has no earth-shattering revelations.

*

The first time Sam decides to take care of morning wood in a way that doesn't involve a cold shower, it's a challenge to keep his mind off a certain bloody tryst between himself and Dean. He rode his brother's cock and after Dean came, the demon pulled Sam down so he was lying on his brother. He cut his left palm and let Sam lick and suck at the blood while jacking him off with his right. It felt so good, Sam asked him to slow down and make it last. Dean kissed his neck and did as his brother asked.

In the present, Sam comes.

"...Shit," he mutters. He just got off thinking about the demon.

He wants that again, he realizes as he walks to the bathroom.

He rests his head against the cool tile wall and lets silent tears run down his face when he further realizes that he misses the demon.

*

How sick is it that he'd take the fictional affection between himself and Dean's possessed corpse over the confusion and pain he's facing with his human brother? How much more wrong can Sam be?

He needs to find a way to get past this. He can't face his brother again until he doesn't regret curing him. He can't let Dean know that he felt this way, ever.

*

The morning Sam wakes up and realizes he hasn't had any bad dreams for the past three nights, he cries a second time. Being away from Dean isn't supposed to help, not really. Half the reason he left was that he thought he'd prove that being with his brother is for the best.

He almost calls Dean just so he can be talked into coming back early. But he doesn't.

*

Sometimes, Sam goes for a run simply because if he doesn't run, he's going to start breaking furniture. Or himself.

The memories of the last two days of Sam's imprisonment, the worst of what Dean did, will come out of nowhere, with stabs of emotional and sometimes even physical pain. God knows there's a lot of injustice in his and Dean's lives, but this, this is the most unfair. Seeing or thinking about his brother shouldn't evoke anxiety. The Dean that exists now would never hurt him; Sam knows that. Why can't he convince his brain?

*

Resilience is something Sam has. Resilience and repression got him through memories of Hell. They'll get him through memories of the Hell on Earth that Dean created.

Time heals all wounds. Whatever scars are left, Sam can accept. He and Dean have physically hurt each other before; this is the worst yet but they can move past it.

One month won't do much other than give Sam mental space to realize that these fears will fade away eventually. Just not as fast as he wants them to.

*

Three weeks after leaving the bunker, Sam muses over the things he wishes, the things he wants.

That he didn't have horrific images and feelings in his memory that have to be reconciled with current reality. That he could get over this for both his sake and Dean's. That he could feel the things he felt when the demon pretended to show affection. That his brother wasn't hurting because of what he did to Sam. That he didn't hurt because of what Dean did to him. That he could talk to Dean.

Most of all, no matter how much better he feels now, he wishes his brother was by his side.

*

One day left before Sam has to start driving back to the bunker.

And yet he doesn't have answers to most of the questions he had when he left.

Can he and Dean stay together like they always have? What does he want when he sees Dean again? What if Dean wants something more than Sam is willing to give?

Sam scoffs at the last question—what could Dean want that he isn't willing to give? The real question is whether he can. Because when Sam tries to imagine having something with Dean like they did when Sam was drinking demon blood, half the time he starts thinking of their non-consensual interactions. And when he's in the grip of those memories... It's for himself as much as for Dean that he can't let that happen if they're together.

*

He doesn't think much about being possessed by Hannah. Two minutes of possession pale in comparison to two weeks of sodom.

Dean knowing about it will accomplish nothing. It won't fix the problems they have now. It's not a particularly heavy burden, anyway. It was a bad idea but it worked out. It won't hurt anyone if Dean never knows. It doesn't even force Sam to accept blame for something that wasn't his fault.

*

Sam gets a call from Dean when he's about five minutes from the bunker.

"Hey."

_"Hey. Where are you?"_

"A couple miles away."

_"I'll leave the door unlocked for you."_

"Thanks."

Then the call is over, as if those words weren't the first they've said to each other in a month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I felt weird bringing real life to fic, but the timing was perfect. For people who don't watch North American football championship games, [here's the PSA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJaSj_qipic).


	15. Chapter XIV - Sanguine, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many centuries ago, doctors believed in humoralism—a system of medicine based on the belief that health, both physical and mental, is related to the four humors in a person's body being in balance. One of the four humors is blood, and the corresponding adjective, sanguine, has connotations of hope and optimism.
> 
> Trigger warning for non-con flashback.

Sam opens the door in the bunker and closes it behind him. Then he hears his brother call out his name.

"Sam?" Dean emerges from the far corner of the library.

"It's me."

Sam descends the stairs and sets down his bag on the nearest table before meeting Dean in the middle of the room for a hug. It's fraternal and pure; they pat each other on the back before pulling apart.

Except then their eyes lock and the 'brothers' switch turns off. It's impulsive and crazy and stupid—just like everything else they do—but Sam finds himself backing Dean up against the wall. He gets closer, until his brother's breath is hitting his lips.

"Dean."

Dean touches Sam's cheek; the younger man waits, heart pounding, for his brother to close the final fraction of an inch between their faces. If his brother still feels this, he's more than ready to go along with it.

But then he finds himself being gently pushed away. Confused, he can only watch as Dean turns away, eyes on the floor.

"Maybe we shouldn't, Sam," he says before nearly running from the room.

*

After Sam dumps his stuff in his bedroom—first getting as far as opening the door to his old bedroom before remembering—he looks for Dean. He finds him in the kitchen, sitting with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.

"...Want a beer?" Sam checks the refrigerator and grabs a couple. He opens one and puts it down in front of his brother before sitting down. The gesture may or may not be lost on Dean.

Sam waits for a minute. Finally he loses patience.

"We gonna talk about what happened back there?"

The older man raises his head. He's not crying, that's probably a good sign, Sam thinks. Dean takes a sip of beer and then twirls the bottle between his palms for a few seconds before replying.

"Let's just forget it happened."

"What are you saying, that you're not-" Sam almost says _interested_ but it sounds too shallow, whereas _in love with me_  just isn't something a Winchester can say. Instead he gestures to finish his sentence.

"Of course I am. There were a couple times that- well, you know. Sure, we could have that again, we could have it every damn day, but..."

"But?"

"I don't think I deserve to have the person I want," Dean says, pointing to himself, voice raising, "when the only reason I know I want them is memories of raping them _dozens_ of times!"

Sam lets out a deep breath. That makes sense. If it were anyone but Dean, he'd probably agree.

"I'm sorry, Sam," the elder brother continues, quiet again. "I know you want this and I want to give it to you. But this is only happening because you got hurt, because I hurt you. I couldn't sleep at night if I knew I was getting something good out of that. Do you understand me?"

Objections and excuses and forgiveness immediately spring to Sam's mind, but he ignores them. He simply nods yes. He gets Dean's logic. And can tell that he's about to try to apologize again. Sam takes evasive action:

"Whatever your reason, no means no. We don't have to talk about this again."

The conversation then fades into silence, each brother alone with his thoughts.

*

 _Trying To Be Brothers Again After Crazy Shit, Part Umpteen_ : take number two.

It's a lot easier than the first time, when memories and emotions were raw. Now they're just happy to see each other after four long weeks of pining, if they're honest with themselves.

The first couple days aren't too bad. One thing they agree on completely is that they want to start hunting again soon. And watch season 4 of _Game of Thrones_ , pretending that they didn't do that when Dean was a demon. Even better, the brothers once have an entire conversation where they forget that anything bad happened between them.

But on the second night back in his bed, Sam wakes up around half past one in the morning, inexplicably frightened and tense until he remembers his dream.

 _No._ He is not supposed to have those dreams, not so soon after seeing Dean again.

He hears something outside his room in the corridor.

"Dean?" he whispers.

"...Can I come in?" is the awkward reply.

Against all logic, Sam wants him to.

"Sure."

The door isn't locked; Dean leaves it completely open when he enters. Light from the hallway spills into the room, but Sam's lamp stays off.

Sam moves aside on the bed and pats the mattress next to him as he sits up. Dean pauses.

"...You sure?"

"Yes."

Dean sits against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. His feet are bare, his clothes simply sweatpants and a t-shirt. He crosses his arms.

"Had a nightmare, too. Last night," he tells Sam. There's a pause before he adds, "First one I've had in a week and a half."

"Same here."

The elder brother rests his head against the wall and turns it towards Sam.

"Y'know... I thought if being around each other was going to be a bad thing, it would've taken a little longer to hit us."

"It might be the bunker."

"What do you wanna do, try living in a motel for a little while?"

"It's worth a shot," Sam agrees. The pair falls silent until a question occurs to him. "Why were you outside my room?"

"I couldn't sleep. I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were alright."

Suddenly Sam has the distinct impression that they're two kids in a thunderstorm.

"Do you want to stay the night?"

"With you?"

"Yeah."

Dean nods.

"I'd like that," he whispers. He shuffles around and gets under the covers next to his brother. Sam gives him a pillow and they both settle in, not quite touching but close enough to know that the other is there by his warmth.

Sam is questioning his motives more than Dean is, probably. He knows it won't happen but he wishes, deep down, that Dean would change his mind and let Sam touch him. And touch Sam. Or at least try.

This was a stupid idea, he thinks as Dean drifts off to sleep. He has more than enough self-control, yes, but he's like someone on a fast sitting themselves down at a table of food. It's hard to think of anything else.

On the other hand, it sure is easy to bring up bad memories of being in a bed with Dean.

It's better that they don't try to bring back the good parts, Sam tells himself. It would only make it harder to forget the bad.

*

Sam wakes up with his big brother sleeping nestled against him.

Dean is warm and breathing and alive and it's still something he marvels at, if Sam is honest with himself. With a lot more help than he feels he deserved, he did this. He got his brother back. He and his own blood.

For a good long while, Sam lies there, letting the older man sleep. He wouldn't mind waking up like this all the time. But unless Dean changes his mind, that seems unlikely. He should avoid even thinking about it.

When Dean does stir, he rolls over and lies on his side. The room is just as dark as when he came in, the corridor providing the only light. Their faces are shadowed more than illuminated.

"G'morning."

"Morning."

Dean's expression is just visible as it softens looking at Sam, neither one of them saying a word.

Suddenly Sam doesn't feel like he has nearly as much self-control as he thought he had a few hours ago.

"Dean-"

"Sam, I don't- I just don't know. I want you so much it- it scares me, honestly, makes me sick after what I did to you, but I don't know if I should be walking on eggshells or ignoring what happened. What's the difference between us having sex now and the demon hurting you then? How do I keep those separate for you? Or for me?"

"I don't know either. But if you're ready to try it, to see what happens, I'm game. If you're not sure, just say no."

"I want to say yes. It just- it feels wrong. Does it feel right to you, somebody who did what I did getting what you're offering me?"

"Are you asking me to talk you into it?"

"Think so, yeah. Tell me why you want to be with me."

"Dean, if you have to look for a reason, then the answer is no."

"Just tell me like you're telling somebody who doesn't know about it."

Sam has to give it some thought, re-word his feelings. Finally he has a response.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, and I sound like I'm about nineteen years old, but I thought I knew how good sex could feel. Especially after comparing what I did when I was soulless to being with Amelia or Jess. But what you did, just a couple times, changed my mind. It was manipulation and lies, I know, and maybe demon blood was messing with my head, but whatever we had was something more. If we can both have that, for real, Dean, and I think we can... I want it. We're going to be together for the rest of our lives no matter what."

Dean reaches out, smooths Sam's hair behind his ear.

"Sam, if you could erase everything we did when I was a demon, good and bad, make us forget everything we feel towards each other now, would you?"

"I don't know yet."

"What would make you think it was worth it?"

"What I just told you. If we had that."

Silence falls. Neither brother is consciously leaning forward but their faces are much closer than they were.

"Dean," Sam breathes, "Don't do this for me. Don't do this out of guilt."

"This isn't about guilt, Sam. I'm going to feel like shit no matter what. But if you're saying that there's a way to make this better, even if I don't understand it, I'll try it."

"So... you're changing your mind?"

"Yes." To prove it, Dean presses his lips to Sam's for a couple seconds.

The younger man shoves the blankets out of the way. Within about two seconds he has his brother lying on his back, their bodies pressing together. He's not hard, not yet, but he's right on the edge of arousal.

"You want this with me, Dean? Forget about why and how, just- just  _do you want this_?"

"Yes, please!"

That's enough for Sam to let himself give in, kiss Dean hard. It's a cliche spark that bursts into flames. Tongues dip into each other's mouths; hands begin to wander. Dean is the first to dare thrust against his brother. Fingers scrabble at each other's clothing and nails rake against skin.

"What do you want, Sammy?"

"I want to make you come."

"No, what do you want me to do to you?"

"Dunno." Sam closes his eyes and presses his lips to Dean's neck as they rub their erections together. It feels good but that's not what he wants.

"I want you to come first, Sam."

"If it's all the same to you, Dean, right now I really just want to blow you."

"Shit," Dean mutters, mostly to himself, before raising his voice again. "Okay."

Sam has a feeling the easy victory has to do with letting him make decisions. He'll take it for now. His brother's clothing removed, he nips and kisses from Dean's throat to just below his navel. His cheek brushes hot, stiff flesh and without further preamble he licks it from base to head with one hard swipe of the tongue. The soft moan he hears fills him with a mixture of pure satisfaction and even deeper arousal.

Free of demon blood as an incentive or distraction, Sam now recognizes how utterly oblivious he was under the haze of addiction. The demon held all the cards; Sam was like a slave to his brother and his brother's blood. The power imbalance when they had any kind of "consensual" sex is so clear now that it's gone. The demon never once used the word "please" as if he needed Sam, never let the younger man so much as express what he might want to do, never surrendered or even shared control of the situation. Once Sam gave consent, he was fucked in every sense.

But now, now his brother is human, with human feelings, sensations, and reactions. Dean's groans and murmurs are honest; the arching of his back and rolling of his hips are Sam's doing. Sam is the one in charge of his brother's pleasure right now. He's making his brother gasp and writhe, lips and tongue working on the head of Dean's cock while his hand strokes the shaft. 

If he's honest with himself, yes, Sam admits, it's hard to differentiate his brother as he currently is from the demon. His body is the same; his voice and the way he swears as Sam takes him closer to the edge are the same. It's something the younger man can tolerate, though. He liked giving Dean head before and it's so much better now that it feels like taking care of his brother instead of servicing a demon.

Dean's moans get louder; he has to try harder not to fuck into Sam's mouth as he gets closer.

"I'm gonna- fffu- gonna come, Sam."

His hips jerk and his cock hits the back of Sam's throat. It doesn't really hurt or even make Sam gag, but it still reminds him of the demon thrusting into his throat when Sam didn't want it. Disregard. Violation.

Don't think about that, Sam tells himself. Think about something else.

He releases Dean, under the guise of teasing him. He smirks at his brother, knowing the room is dark enough to hide how forced the smile is.

"Sammy," the elder brother whimpers. Sam wraps his hand around Dean's cock, relishing how turned on he is, how precome is dripping from the head. So slowly it sexually frustrates even him, he strokes up and then down exactly once.

His thoughts, however, are racing: He has choices. He can stop. He can finish Dean with his hand or his mouth. He can keep teasing. He can do whatever he wants or needs. He's with his brother. There's no demon here. He's safe— _they_ are safe. Either one of them can put an end to this if they want to.

He makes sure Dean can see the silhouette clearly as he licks the precome off his hand, first cleaning his palm.

"You like being left at the edge, Dean?" he asks before sucking one finger into his mouth.

Dean nods quickly. His hands fist tighter in the sheets as Sam moves onto his other fingers, sucking them one at a time, leaving his middle finger for last. Even untouched the older man makes soft sounds of desire and desperation watching Sam's taunting. His hips twitch with the best kind of neediness.

The power trip—making Dean whimper, making Dean thrust into the air out of instinct, knowing he'll soon make Dean come—feels as good as demon blood did to Sam. The darkest parts of him loved the blood, felt affection for it, and this was why.

The demon blood and the sense of control it gave him is gone, but he has something different and better now, because Dean wants this, Dean is getting pleasure out of this.

"Dean," he says, because he has to.

His brother hears it on every level and gives the reply that he has to:

"Sam."

After taking a breath to settle his emotions, Sam finally returns his attention to Dean's dick, lapping precome off, starting at the base and working his way to the tip. It draws out a medley of "Sam"s, "yes"s, and "please"s and at last another "'m'gonna come." This time he seals his lips around his brother's cock and finishes him. He's unable to deny his own need for friction and palms himself as come fills his mouth.

Dean shouts Sam's name when he comes, with an odd undertone that makes Sam wonder if his brother is about to cry.

The younger man swallows, then gently licks his brother's dick completely clean of come as it softens.

He wipes his mouth when he's done and sits up, pulse racing. Nothing even happened to him but he hasn't enjoyed himself this much in longer than he can remember.

"You good?" he asks.

"A hell of a lot better than good." Dean's voice is shaking.

"You sure?"

"I'll be better once I make you come," he promises. "...What about you?"

Sam pointedly looks down at the obscene tenting in his sweatpants, though Dean can't see the growing damp spot.

"I'll be better once you make me come," he jokes.

"Tell me what you want, Sammy." Dean pulls the other man close to him by the shoulders and kisses him thoroughly until Sam breaks contact.

"What do you want to do to me?"

"How about my mouth?"

"Sounds good," Sam agrees as he allows Dean to push onto his back. He and Dean collaborate to get his sweatpants out of the picture, then Dean kisses him yet again, deep and intense.

He murmurs into Sam's cheek as he plants soft kisses on his face:

"If you want or need me to stop, or just think you might, no matter what..."

"I know, I will. I trust you, Dean."

The mood changes from romantic back to erotic as Dean moves back and positions himself between Sam's legs.

The younger man groans as wet heat wraps around his cock; like his brother, he finds it difficult not to thrust into it. Closing his eyes, he loses himself in the sensations. He doubts he'll last long; Dean knows exactly what he likes, exactly how to use his tongue and lips (and his teeth, just a little) on Sam's cock to make him writhe.

Suddenly, the pleasure of the situation is brought to a halt.

The demon with Dean's face, the demon that Dean was, held Sam still and did this to him. Hell, the only reason Dean knows how to use his tongue and lips and teeth on Sam is that the demon refused to stop experimenting until he had learned how to bend Sam's body to his will. Even without possessing him, the demon owned Sam completely and did what he pleased with every inch of his body, made Sam's body do what Dean wanted.

_No, no, no, quit thinking about it! Don't think about what the demon did!_

Memories are overpowering Sam's senses—or are they? What's the difference between the present and the past? The sights and smells and sounds are the same. Why isn't he resisting? He always resists when the demon is doing this. It never works because the demon is too powerful; Sam is nothing. He's a thing to play with and invade. He doesn't have the right to not feel like sex, so Dean is still sucking him. The demon does what it wants.

"Dean, stop," it finally occurs to him to say. It comes out quiet and breathless but his brother hears and immediately releases Sam's cock and pulls a few inches away.

This is not the same as when the demon was in charge, Sam thinks. Dean stopped. There's still the taste of come in Sam's mouth; he remembers swallowing it. That never happened before because they never found out if demon come works like demon blood. There's none of that, either, making him feel dirty inside. The layout of furniture in the room is different. He looks down at his chest. There's his new anti-possession tattoo, just visible in the poor lighting. The ruined one is a fading scar, not a scab.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. I don't- Should- should I get out?" Dean moves to sit on the side of the bed, feet on the floor.

Sam reaches out to feel Dean's right forearm. The Mark of Cain is gone. He breathes deeply, attempting to calm his mind. Flashbacks. Maybe he should have done actual research on this. He'd assumed it was simply a risk he was taking. Not something he'd contend with the very first time he tried to do anything with Dean.

His panic is fading, only to leave him just plain unsettled. This is a bad way to start the day. But he doesn't have to worry about it happening again, he reminds himself. His brother isn't a demon anymore; Sam can trust him.

"Sammy?"

"I'm good." The younger man forces out a little smile. He lets go of Dean and clenches his hands into fists to hide the trembling.

"Like hell you are."

"You did everything you could, Dean, you stopped. Just..."

There's a silence and finally Dean asks a question Sam doesn't want to think about.

"Are you sure you wouldn't be better off if I got out?"

Sam shuffles over to sit behind Dean with his feet tucked under him, resting his forehead against his brother's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Dean, comforting the both of them. The answer is no, he's not sure, and they both know it.

His heart is still pounding in his chest; he still feels the adrenaline and pure stress flowing through his body. But as he clings to his big brother, takes in the rhythm of a living heartbeat, the bad feelings drain out like fluid from a blister. The silence is soothing for both of them. Sam's body is neither aroused nor panicking by the time Dean speaks again:

"Thank you for stopping me."

"Thank you for stopping."

"I'd be a monster if I didn't, Sam." He rubs his forearm where the Mark used to be.

After another while, Sam sits next to his brother. The silence is starting to be more awkward than calming.

"Are you gonna be okay, Sam?"

"I'll be fine in a few hours."

There's a harsh, short laugh from the elder brother.

"What?"

"I just came so fucking hard, and you- you'll 'be fine in a few hours.'" The sarcasm stings but it's concealing some other emotion Dean doesn't want to share. " _Nothing_ dysfunctional about that. At all."

Sam resists the urge to say _"It's okay."_ Because he knows it's not.


	16. Chapter XV - Sanguine, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Sanguine.
> 
>  _At this He said: “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground."_  
>  -Genesis 4:10
> 
> Trigger warning for vivid flashbacks to non-con.

Not twelve hours later, the brothers check into a motel. For some reason, Dean is doing everything short of physically pushing Sam towards the lobby to check in. Alone.

Sam figures out why the moment the clerk asks that damn question.

"King or two queens?"

Dean is letting—or making—him choose. Sam doesn't have time to really weigh the options before he finds himself answering just as smoothly as he did for years:

"King."

*

Some of Dean's tension vanishes once he sees that Sam hasn't given up hope.

The sober atmosphere doesn't change, however. They don't try anything when they go to bed, beyond a soft look between them that might as well have been a goodnight kiss just before Sam puts an arm around his brother.

Sometimes the demon used to "hold" the younger man when Sam slept, but truth is that he never got much out of it aside from the impression of restraint. As a rule, Sam holds his partner when they sleep. Not, however, because he's bigger or wants to be the protector. Jess, Amelia, they were anchors to the life he had at the time, the life he thought he wanted. Dean was and is his anchor to hunting, to the life that makes him happy as long as his brother is there.

*

It takes them two days to find a possible hunt, investigate, and figure out it's a bust.

It takes them two minutes after getting back to the motel to figure out they're both pretty damn horny and they should fix that.

They begin to trade deep kisses while fumbling out of their clothes, inching towards the bed. Once Sam hits the mattress, he sits on the edge and pulls Dean up to straddle his lap.

"Sam," Dean says, pausing.

"What?"

"The other time, when we stopped, was it something I did? ...I mean, right then?" Dean averts his eyes. It's all because of things he did.

Sam doesn't have the heart to be honest, and he isn't in the mood for finding a dumb answer to make his brother smile, the way Dean would.

"No, you're good, Dean. ...Can we get back to the program?"

"Yeah." There's a glimpse of the old Dean then, the hedonistic one who perks up at the mention of sex.

Sam reaches between them to stroke his brother, only to be stopped with Dean's hand on his wrist.

"Sammy, can I take care of you first? ...Please?"

"Yeah," Sam consents. He's able to wrap both arms around Dean's warm body as his brother's hand goes to work. This is good; this what he wanted. Dean is touching him and after this Sam will do his best to make his brother writhe in pure bliss. He buries his face in Dean's neck, moaning, rocking his hips to fuck Dean's fist. For these moments, it's like nothing in the world can be wrong. After all they've done for each other, all they've left behind, why not share this?

It never felt this right before he cured Dean. He was only doing it for demon blood and then because Dean claimed it helped him resist the Mark. He still felt dirty, knowing that he was being fucked by a demon.

Sam remembers the demon doing something like this, but after the blood was over. He hadn't asked permission beforehand, nor had Sam given it.

He was sitting in one of the few armchairs in the bunker when the demon entered. Without preamble, Dean held out a hand and kept Sam still.

"Wanna come, Dean, make me come," Sam pleads. He starts fully thrusting into the tight, now slick warmth around his cock. Desperate to get off before the memories get any closer to the surface, he does everything he can to encourage his brother.

The demon straddled Sam, rubbed against him a little, thinking aloud as to how to fuck him. Sam didn't waste breath by saying anything other than "no." He struggled against the invisible force as Dean opened up both their flys and touched him, trying to get him hard.

Sam whispers what he knows his brother wants to hear: "Yes." He shoves his mind into the present, into how Dean is touching him exactly as Sam wants. "Yes, yes, please, make me come, yes..."

Once Sam was erect enough, the demon had taken both their cocks in hand and started stroking and thrusting. The human was powerless to move.

Dean is just too good at reading Sam. He slows his movements.

Dean didn't let up for a second. Neither did Sam, but it hadn't made a hint of difference.

"Sam, are you alright?"

"No," Sam said to the demon, so many times.

"Yes," Sam says. He repeats it when Dean is still hesitant. "Yes. Keep going. Lemme see my come on you."

"Fuck, Sam," the black-eyed monster said, "you really want it tonight. Got hard so fast. And taste this..." Very carefully, Dean wiped his palm on Sam's tongue. It was coated with precome. "That's all you, Sam. The taste of you being a horny bitch."

Dean mutters a curse word at Sam's dirty talk and resumes his quick, hard strokes. He whispers into the younger man's ear: "Do it, Sam, come on me. I want it all over me. Make me yours."

Sam shut his eyes to keep from crying as the demon brought him closer to climax, the flavor of his treacherous body caught in his mouth.

He isn't thinking much about what his brother is saying. He's lost in memories, just wanting the demon to go away, stop, _stop doing this, no Dean I don't want this_. He can't speak; the demon won't let him.

Friction is all that sends Sam over the edge. He groans ever so softly, feeling release but not much else.

Finally he remembers vaguely that he cured Dean; there is no demon. He uses his lips to feel his way up his brother's neck so he can give Dean a kiss. It's deep and sloppy and gives Sam a chance to collect himself, holding his brother's face close. He just needs to breathe a little and then return the favor. Ideally with Dean enjoying his orgasm, unlike Sam.

Dean pulls away slightly, wiping away the string of spit between their mouths.

"Sam..." Concern overshadows arousal.

"Uh, g-give me a few seconds, then it's your turn."

"No, no, wait a second." Dean bats the hands from his face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean. It just kinda reminded me of something a little. It's not like I had a flashback." Sam forces a smile despite his brother's troubled expression. He's impressing himself with how well he's bullshitting this. Throwing himself into character, he runs his fingertips over Dean's thighs and hips, teasing. "Let me make you feel good."

"No, wait."

Sam releases his brother and rests his hands on the mattress.

Dean looks confused, as if he hadn't expected compliance, but continues.

"Look me in the eye, Sam, and tell me that you were okay this whole time."

Sam wonders if he could manage it. He chooses not to try.

"I wanted you to keep going."

Dean looks like he's on the verge of either tears or shouting.

"You just tried to lie to me."

"Because I knew you'd freak out like this!"

Dean gets off the bed.

"No, I'm 'freaking out' like this because you just tried to hide it. I won't- I can't do this with you if something like that's going on in your head and you don't stop me."

"Dean," Sam starts. The elder brother pauses in the doorway of the bathroom and turns around to wait while Sam gathers the rest of his thoughts. "This is about why you didn't want to try, right?"

"Does it matter?"

"Just tell me that you're saying no for yourself. That you're not deciding something for me because you think I'm broken or- or weak, or that I can't say no for myself. If you can do that, then I swear, I won't lie or hide it if I start remembering things that happened."

Dean is silent for an unusually long time, staring at the floor in thought. Finally he takes a deep breath and looks up with a weak smile on his face.

"No worries, Sam. This is about me."

There's no time for Sam to respond before Dean shuts himself in the bathroom, locking the door.

*

And then they're on to the next pair of suspicious deaths, the next town, the next motel room with a king-sized bed.

This time it's a real case. Soon they fall into the old patterns; it's like it was before. Except it's not.

Dean still flirts shamelessly, but it's only for information or endearing himself. There's no leering, no longing looks at anyone. His apparent interest flips off like a switch once they're alone again. Sam is so used to it he forgets that he should feel jealous the first couple times it happens.

Sam finds himself needing to know precisely where Dean is in relation to him—not knowing makes him tense and jumpy. He thinks of it as a form of separation anxiety rather than fear left over from the two weeks of imprisonment.

And then once or twice, he catches his brother looking at him sometimes, and not in a way Sam wants. He remembers Dean looking at him like that before, in the months after he killed Lilith and let out Lucifer.

But they get work done; that's what matters when they're on a job.

The third and final suspicious death is that of a comatose hospital patient, accompanied by a poorly-made hex bag. A few more clues, the hunters find their witch, and the whole story comes out.

The patient was a woman who was already dying; her daughter had sought out ways to heal her. When the daughter found a book and began dabbling in witchcraft, little acts of revenge against those responsible for her mother's impending death began to get out of hand. The deaths were accidents, she claims. Especially that of her mother.

Sam insists on leniency and Dean concedes, eventually. They oversee the young woman burning all of her hex bags and other black magic items. She offers them the book and Sam takes it for the bunker library—whenever the hell they go back.

*

"You know, you can't blame her," Sam comments as they drive back to the motel.

The brothers glance at each other. At this point, people going to extreme lengths to save their loved ones are laughable compared to what they've done. But these jobs never fail to sober them.

"You blamed me for Gadreel," Dean replies after a strange silence.

"No. I can't blame you for making that choice. You just shouldn't have lied to me."

The silence in the car is heavy as Dean seems to be processing what his brother just told him.

With the topic of Gadreel brought up, Sam's mind can't help but wander to when he said yes to Hannah. Even though he won, it was a stupid gamble.

It's a testament to how close they are that, though their minds took different routes, they ended up in the same place. Dean asks:

"What happened after you cured me, Sam?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam blinks as he shifts in his seat. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I was going to die. No doubt about that. Then I wake up and I'm fine."

"I told you, an angel."

"Uh-huh... That's- that's a _lot_ of information right there. You realize what this looks like, right? Do you blame me for wanting some answers?"

"Look, Dean. You were practically dead. The first thing I thought of was praying to the angel who lent me the demon tablet. She showed, she fixed you, she left."

"For nothing?"

"Well I sure owe her one now. Besides, she told me that angels' jobs used to be just helping people. That's what she did."

"You... 'owe her one.'"

Sam chooses to paraphrase his hallucination:

"You realize keeping promises like that are pretty much our biggest weakness after each other, right?" For all he knows, the full price for bringing Dean back has not been paid; it might be higher than he can imagine. "And everyone knows it."

"Alright," the elder brother says after a few moments of thought. "Let's say there's one angel who's smart _and_  not a dick one hundred percent of the time. Why wasn't she there when I woke up? Angels always wake you up."

Sam searches himself for a truthful if not completely honest answer.

"I told her not to?"

"Why?"

"It's over now, can we just leave it?"

"No. You're obviously not telling me something!"

Sam feels like shrinking away from his brother's voice. The majority of the past dozen times he heard that tone were overtures to experiences he doesn't want to remember.

"Don't talk to me like that," he mumbles.

"Like what?"

Dean looks over to see the slight shaking of Sam's head. It's not hard to figure it out.

He turns back to the road, adjusting his grip on the wheel. The briefest second glance, checking on Sam, is enough apology for them.

"Well, you aren't," Dean presses, in a more even tone, so unnatural and forced it's almost comical. "You _just_ told me that you cared more about being lied to than me doing the wrong thing, so you better have a damn good reason for keeping me in the dark."

Sam takes a deep breath. He didn't want things tainted by it. He didn't want to hear what Dean would have to say about it. He's not sure what Dean will think it means. There are too many feelings about possession and that would have made those first few weeks even worse.

"It's okay, Dean, I'll tell you." Sam tries to put together some words; none of them are right.

"...And?" the older man prods.

"Hannah—the angel—was only willing to possess somebody who knows what they're getting themselves into by saying yes."

Dean nods.

"I'm with you so far."

"Well, there aren't too many people available who've been possessed, let alone by an angel."

Something seems to drain from Dean's face.

"Sam, tell me you didn't..."

"I couldn't say no."

"You couldn't-"

Sam braces himself.

"Why the fuck would you do that, Sam? Why would you take that risk? You should know better than anybody what could've happened!"

"You think I don't? You think I wasn't scared to death of seeing my hands hurting someone I love, hurting _you_?! _Again_?"

With a loud sigh, Dean pulls the car over. He turns it off and gets out, rounding the vehicle to lean against it, facing away from the road. Sam joins him, hands in his jacket pockets. However long his brother needs to take this in, he can have. He half-hopes Dean decides it's too far-fetched and calls bullshit.

Lonely as the road is, half a dozen cars pass before either says a word.

"She's not still in you, is she?" Dean asks, still staring straight ahead.

"No."

Dean scoffs, rubbing his mouth.

"I almost can't believe it. I mean, being possessed again... that's the last thing you would ever want, right?"

"Losing you," Sam says, turning his head, "is the last thing I'd ever want."

The older man draws a sharp breath; the pair falls silent for another while.

"Are you mad?" Sam asks.

"No!"

Another minute passes. Dean re-answers:

"...Not at you."

The sun is getting lower in the sky. The shorter of the two straightens up and looks around. The coast is apparently clear, as he then steps directly in front of Sam.

"Hey," Dean murmurs.

"Hey," Sam replies. They never discussed it; they know by instinct that the one otherwise vague syllable is the easiest way for Dean to ask and for Sam to say yes.

It's quick, a peck on the lips before Dean ducks away to get back into the car.

*

With that revelation out of the way, they're quiet as they get back to their motel room. There's no need to skip town, so within a few hours, they're getting ready for bed. Dean gets in the shower; Sam brushes his teeth.

He finishes rinsing his mouth and happens to glance through the shower door. Dean is there, body blurred by the frosted glass.

Sam doesn't know when he became a voyeur, but he's turned on by the idea of just watching Dean and he can't resist trying.

He open the door slightly, leaving about half his face visible.

"Dean?"

The elder brother turns. Rivulets of water are running down his chest, briefly distracting Sam.

"Mind if I watch you?" he asks after clearing his throat a couple times.

"What, showering?"

Sam nods.

There's a smile on Dean's face as he washes himself, lathering himself up with exaggerated motions and doing a lot of unnecessary running of his hands over his skin as he rinses.

"Wanna show me what you're doing, Sam?" he asks.

Opening the door, Sam reveals that he's removed his shirt and sweatpants and has been stroking himself. His hand moves faster as he watches Dean's cock rise and lengthen.

"...Is there room for me in there?"

"Oh yeah. There's room for you." Dean eyes his brother from head to toe.

Sam doesn't bother answering except to step inside the shower and slide the door shut behind him. It's a tight fit, and he likes it. Their knuckles graze as each strokes himself.

"C'mere," Dean murmurs before tangling his fingers in Sam's wet hair. Their tongues mingle as hot water courses down their bodies; pre-come is seeping out of their cocks as fast as it's being rinsed away.

"Trade?" Sam asks between kisses. Dean makes a sound of agreement and their hands switch places.

Mistake, Sam realizes. Dean touching him in the shower? It brings him straight back to the day he gave up, what Dean did to him in the shower.

But he can keep himself in the moment this time. There are a million things different; he can push the memories away. Dean doesn't have to know; they can share this and it will be fine. He spreads his free hand over the other man's back, truly wanting more of his brother this time. Closer, tighter, harder, faster...

No, Dean does have to know, Sam decides. What goes through his mind is important to Dean when they're doing this.

"Dean?"

"Mm?"

"I- _shit_ , Dean... I want you to keep going, but this does kinda remind me of that time."

Dean lets go of his brother and backs away—after prying Sam's fingers off his cock—as much as he can. He presses against the off-white tile wall.

"Sorry, Sam."

"I'm good this time."

"I still can't." He puts his hand over the knob. "You staying?"

Finishing himself while Dean takes a cold shower doesn't feel right. Sam nods to answer the question while asking his own:

"This is why you didn't want to even try, isn't it?"

Dean turns the water to cold, making both brothers flinch as the hot water abruptly turns to what feels like ice.

"Yeah," he replies.

They shiver together for a little while before Dean turns off the water. They step out of the shower stall and dry themselves off in silence.

"This is going to happen a lot, Dean," Sam says as they each put on the nearest convenient articles of sleepwear. "You prepared for that?"

"As long as this is worth it for you."

"I'll let you know once we fuck and it doesn't go sideways," the younger man scoffs. He adds when his brother frowns, "We can't really judge until we see the flip side, y'know?"

Dean lets out a deep breath.

"This whole thing is so messed up, Sam."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. I was busy trying to bang my brother."

Dean grimaces at the dry humor.

"I mean, think about it, Sam. If I hadn't been so damn stupid accepting the Mark, I wouldn't have turned into a demon. All that happened because I was a demon." He gestures: " _This_ is happening because I was a demon. Do you think we ever would have gotten together as humans?"

"No, but what happened happened and we can't change that. We're making the best of a bad situation, okay? Or trying to, as long as we both want to do this."

They get into bed, lights off. Dean confesses, almost under his breath:

"I couldn't stop wanting you if you asked me to."

"Same here. But that's not the same thing. You told me- I mean, when you were a demon, you said once that I didn't really want to say no. You were right. And I'm guessing..." Sam has to force himself to finish what he started. "I'm guessing you don't really want to say no now. But that doesn't mean you can't. If this feels wrong and you want to stop, we will. Just say the word."

All Sam hears from his brother in response is one or two sniffles in the dark.

*

Three exsanguinated bodies is enough to get Sam and Dean moving again the next day.

The motel clerk asks that damn question again and Sam opens his mouth to answer but Dean cuts him off:

"Two queens, please."

*

In the motel room, door locked behind them, Sam can't hold his tongue any longer.

"Is this how you're telling me? Are we done?"

"No. I'm not giving up if you aren't."

"Then what the hell, Dean?"

The older man shrugs.

"There're bigger fish, Sam."

Alone in bed, it takes a long time to fall asleep that night.

*

They act like brothers by daylight, but that's not much of a change. Sam is still anxious about his brother's whereabouts; Dean is still watching him like he's not sure who Sam is.

Another night and day later, the vamp nest they found has been cleared out and they're already checking into another motel a hundred miles away.

Sam stays in the car while Dean books the room, letting Dean's choice remain a mystery, but in truth he isn't surprised in the least to see two beds when he opens the door.

Dean at least comes up with an half-believable excuse this time: "We're in the Bible belt, Sam. I'm not gonna go out of my way to ask for a king for two guys."

*

The next possible case that they investigate turns out to be a job for regular animal control. No hunt means no bodies; no bodies means they don't have to leave town until they actually feel like it. Or until they've hustled pool or poker at every bar in the vicinity and it's no longer to safe to show their faces.

A few days pass and Sam realizes that he hasn't had a single nightmare since leaving the bunker. Sharing a bed with Dean doesn't seem to make a difference.

"You sleeping alright lately?" the younger man asks once they get back to the motel after a disappointing night. They only made twenty bucks—Dean had grumbled, _"Idiots at the bar were too smart,"_ before rethinking his words. Sam shrugs off his jacket and leaves it on the back of a chair. He leans against a table and folds his arms, waiting.

"Yeah," his brother answers. "Why?"

"No bad dreams?"

Dean nods, understanding finally what Sam is getting at.

"Looks like all we needed was a break from the Batcave."

"Thing is, when do we go back? Do we go back?"

"No clue," the elder brother replies. "For now, we're just going to hunt, get our land legs back."

"Is that all we're going to do?"

Dean smirks and mimics the suggestive tone.

"What else do you have in mind, Sammy?"

"Well right now I'd like you to get naked and get on the fucking bed." Sam studies his brother from across the room. "If you're still into that kind of thing."

"Trust me, I am."

Both of them strip as they approach Sam's bed. Dean lies on his back; Sam settles between his legs.

"What do you want, Dean?"

"What do you want?"

Looking at his brother's hard cock, Sam licks his lips. As much as he likes using his mouth, he has a desire he didn't think he'd ever have again.

"I want to ride you."

Dean seems to need a few extra seconds to process the request.

"You... ride me?"

"You asked what I wanted, Dean. I'm open to other suggestions."

"If we're gonna go all the way like that, I kind of want to get fucked first."

"We don't have to go that far, Dean, ever."

"Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see you on my cock, but I- ...Just forget it, Sam." Dean sits up. "We're not going to make it this time no matter what we do."

He leaves a kiss on Sam's lips and a muttered but sincere apology for being a cocktease as he slips out of Sam's grasp.

*

For once, it's all Dean who starts the suggestive looks and comments, not 48 hours later. Sam is more than willing to go along with it. What with Dean getting yet another motel room with two queens, he needs more reassurance than words that Dean still wants to try.

Before they know it, Dean is standing at the foot of the bed, spreading his arms slightly.

"Treat me rough, Sam."

"So you wanna get fucked tonight?" Sam asks as he pulls the remainder of his brother's clothing off with short, harsh movements. It's thrilling, really, to be the one doing this to Dean.

"So damn bad..." Dean murmurs back as he returns the favor, though slower and softer with his actions.

"How do you wanna be fucked?" They fall on the bed together, touching every inch of each other, already rubbing hot skin against hot skin. Dean puts off replying for a few seconds in favor of being kissed hard. He waits until Sam chooses to move to his jaw and neck.

"Just fuck me hard. I don't care how-" Underneath Sam, Dean tenses when his brother's teeth nip at his throat. He swallows hard and repeats, "I- I don't care how."

Brief a moment as it was, the younger man has a feeling that he shouldn't ignore it.

"Dean?"

"I'm fine." At Sam's look of disbelief, Dean adds, "It just reminded me of when you..."

"...Right." It's so clear in Sam's memory: overpowering the demon, sinking his teeth into its throat. He was vicious, profaning Dean. _"Bloodthirsty freak,"_ the demon called him. _"I don't think you even know what 'human' is."_  He glances at his hand. He can picture that smear of Dean's blood. He wanted to lick it off. A stab of shame pierces through him as he remembers how good demon blood felt, how good sex felt when he was tasting it, drinking it.

He rolls onto his side next to his brother. "...God, Dean, I'm sorry."

Dean turns his head to look at him.

"It wasn't that big of a deal, Sam. Just a little creepy."

"No, I mean when you were a demon. Drinking your blood. Letting Cas die. How- how can you trust me after that?"

Dean's mouth forms the shape of the word  _"Oh."_  He looks up in the direction of the ceiling, pensive. The longer he takes to answer, the more nervous Sam gets. Maybe this is it; this is the tirade he expected. Finally the elder brother seems to have his thoughts collected. He rolls onto his side, mirrors Sam.

"You did something to yourself with the demon tablet, didn't you?"

"I removed as much of Yellow Eyes's blood as I could. I can't use demon blood anymore."

"Then I don't have to worry about it happening again."

"No," Sam admits. He should be proud; he's almost as pure as he was at the end of the Trials. It's not going to come back this time. He hasn't been able to appreciate it, though, when he feels just as dirty inside from the events of the past months. "But I did things, Dean."

"Sam, if I can use the excuse 'I was a demon,' so can you."

When the weight of Dean's words fully settles, Sam's breath catches in his throat. That's what he's dreaded ever since his hallucination of Dean's ghost, what he's known was coming since he ran away from the revelation that he was sleeping with his brother's corpse. No, even further back—he's been expecting to hear this ever since he realized that Dean saw his eyes turn black when he killed Crowley. Dean said "more than human" at the time.

Dean immediately looks down, apparently finding the sheets very fascinating.

"That's what you wanted me to say, wasn't it?" he asks, voice soft. "You wanted me to say something that hurts you. That's all I've got. Right now, we're human, we're brothers, we're good. I trust you a hundred percent. But if you want the ugly truth, sure: you were a hell of a lot more demon last fall than I was human, and you probably could have saved Cas."

Sam has no words. He isn't sure whether Dean is right. In a way, his life wouldn't be his life if he hadn't heard something like this. He thinks it all the time; it's when Dean says it that it matters. It's the punctuating punishment, how he knows he fucked up and he's paying for it.

"It's not true anymore, Sam." Dean looks up, wordless apology clear. "You're as human as me. You're not the reason Cas died, either. I am."

Sam leans in for a deep kiss, eventually pushing Dean onto his back and resuming his earlier position.

He looks into his brother's eyes; Dean simply nods. They're not going to fuck like they meant to; they're just going to try to forget the pain of memories and guilt. He takes his and Dean's cocks in hand and begins slow, almost somber thrusts. All they have for lube to start is his spit. They don't want this to feel good yet.

There's not much noise, mostly their breathing and the springs of the mattress. Sam shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to Dean's. He feels like grimacing, though he can't put his finger on why. The pleasure between them is growing; Dean's scent and close proximity are literally two of the most comforting things in the world to Sam. He's not thinking of anything but sex and the shame of demon blood. The latter is quickly fading from his thoughts.

Dean splays his hands over Sam's shoulder blades, fingers curling. His nails dig in, almost breaking skin, when he's close. His breaths become gasps; he falls out of rhythm with the younger man.

"Sam... Sammy..."

"Dean," is the whispered reply.

With a groan, Dean comes. His legs wrap tight around Sam's waist and he rolls his hips as he rides out the orgasm.

"Fuck my fist?" he whispers to Sam once his breathing is closer to normal.

"Yeah," Sam murmurs before kissing him.

He moans into his brother's mouth when Dean reaches between them, so close to the edge. It takes just a few hard thrusts to bring him to climax. It's a gentle, sweet physical release, not the hard burst of pleasure that sex with Dean used to be, but that's okay. He enjoyed it and if Dean enjoyed it too, he'll call it a win. Their first.

It's only then he truly looks at Dean's face. It's more sad than anything else. It's the expression Sam usually sees when Dean is saying no because of Sam remembering something.

"Dean... you didn't really want that, did you?"

"I wanted you to do it."

"Why?"

"I said something to hurt you. Letting you do that just now seemed like the right thing."

"How is this any better than me not telling you if something is bringing up memories?"

Dean doesn't say anything.

"Don't use me to punish yourself, Dean. There's nothing you should still be paying for. Remember what you told me once? 'There's nothing past or present I would put in front of you.' Don't you think that goes both ways?"

Whatever Dean is about to say, he stops himself, parting his lips and then clamping them shut. The brothers stare at each other for a few more long seconds, Sam waiting for some form of acknowledgment. He refuses to voice the thoughts that will only make Dean feel more guilty: he's doing this without Sam's consent.

"I won't do it again, Sam, okay? No more guilt sex."

"Okay." Sam lets his brother up.

That definitely didn't count.

*

An hour later, Sam lies alone in his bed, mind insistent on examining the evening's events.

They said they wouldn't help each other heal from this. Have they even been trying? Dean said he trusted Sam a hundred percent now. Sam told his brother that there's nothing to do penance for. Incomplete truths to comfort each other. Sam is already withholding things he wants to say so he won't inspire more guilt. Dean might be lying about wanting to have sex.

It's not like either of them cares that they're doing something they shouldn't. They do all kinds of unhealthy things together, physical and psychological. Hell, they knew that they were getting better apart, and they went straight back to being around each other nearly 24/7. They're both suffering from what happened and they'll suffer more trying to comfort each other. They want to.

*

They continue to drive around the Midwest, working whatever jobs they find. Most aren't eventful, but a couple are.

Sex is just a depressing and stressful ritual now. If Sam isn't remembering one incident or another just a little too clearly for Dean's (or his own) taste, the elder brother is losing his nerve. They always stop. Once in a while, one of them gets to come before that, but mostly it's either a cold shower or self-servicing for them. Sam tries to get Dean to make a joke about it, but it doesn't work.

They each sleep alone. Sam misses the warmth, having someone to hold, and imagines his brother feels similar. He ignores it; they slept that way for years. Other things are getting back to the way they were before Dean got the Mark, before he became a demon. So can their sleeping arrangement.

It's been days since the last time they even kissed when Sam decides to draw the line.

It takes a few minutes for him to get up the nerve to say it, but finally he does, in the middle of them researching for a case:

"We done?"

"Done what?"

"Done trying to have sex with each other without it being spoiled by one of us being reminded of what you did to me."

The candid expression gives Dean pause. He eventually answers:

"Yes."

Sam almost responds to it. He expected more, probably a question.

He doesn't, though. It's simple as that, what they agreed on at first, what they should have stuck to.

Because it didn't take that long once Sam put his mind to it. He knows _exactly_ what Dean was going to say after Sam quoted him that night, about having nothing to put in front of him: the thing Sam is putting in front of his brother, every damn day, is Sam himself. Every time they touch, he's literally shoving it in Dean's face. Every failed attempt at sex makes it worse. They're just tormenting themselves, Sam getting unwelcome flashbacks and Dean knowing it every time, Dean flinching once or twice and Sam having no explanation for it but the dozens of times he cut or bit into his brother.

Looking into Dean's eyes, Sam nods. It's been years since doing the right thing has felt so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"And now you are cursed in banishment from the ground that has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand."_  
>  -Genesis 4:11


	17. Chapter XVI - Sanguine, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Yes, according to the Law nearly all things are cleansed with blood, and unless blood is poured out no forgiveness takes place._  
>  -Hebrews 9:22
> 
> Starts out with Dean's POV, switches a couple times marked by three asterisks.

Dean can feel his brother's eyes on him as he makes his way to the lonely-looking woman at the bar. He got explicit permission to do this, but it still feels so wrong.

He half-hopes she'll say no, but she lets him buy her a drink and they flirt for a while. She's cautious about bringing home a man she's never met before, but clearly interested and Dean can't find an excuse to give up.

By the time Dean and Alyssa are leaving together, Sam has vanished from his seat. Dean fights off the urge to call or text to make sure he's okay.

*

The woman is everything Dean used to like in a hookup. A year or two ago, he might have stayed for a second round.

Thing is, he doesn't want hookups anymore. He remembers what it's like going back to casual sex after being in a serious relationship—after Cassie and Lisa—and this isn't it. He can't go back, not after what Sam was to him. Alyssa makes him feel like he's possessing a corpse again and so will anyone else he might try to sleep with.

It really sinks in only after he's back in the motel parking lot, about to get out of the car: this is exactly the way he felt as a demon. What did he tell Sam the last time he had sex with a woman? _She didn't mean anything; she was just filler._ Sam is the one he wants, the one who makes him feel alive.

He doesn't know how to face Sam with that revelation. Dean knows where it will lead: right back to what they just walked away from.

***

Sam looks out the window when he hears an engine that sounds familiar. There it is, the Impala with Dean behind the wheel. He can't make out much, what with it being dark, the car about a dozen yards away, and Dean's face turned towards the road rather than the motel, but he can tell that his brother has turned off the car and apparently has no intention of exiting the vehicle.

After a good ten minutes of Dean just sitting there, Sam finds his phone.

 _You okay?_ he texts.

He watches Dean stare at his phone for a while, then set it aside. There's no reply, so Sam sends another message:

_I'm coming out there._

By the time Sam crosses the parking lot, Dean is leaning against the car, hands in pockets.

"You alright?"

"I just need some space."

"...Are you leaving?"

"What? No, of course I'm not leaving! It's nothing, Sam."

"Right."

"I'm not asking you to buy it," Dean says, "I'm asking you to leave it alone."

"Well... if you ever wanna talk, I'm right here." Sam has no clue what's suddenly eating at his brother other than that it probably has to do with him. Dean would be hiding it much better if it were something else.

"I know."

*

Dean awakens his brother with coffee and a case the next morning. He looks like he got next to no sleep.

The younger man latches onto the idea of more hunting. Despite what common sense would dictate, removing the stresses of triggering flashbacks and sexually frustrating each other has not improved their moods nor their ability to sleep at night. He feels worse than he has in a long time. Focusing on saving people, physically exhausting themselves—that's the best they can do.

***

The case ends bloody—for the monsters and almost for Dean. Due to a conscientious bystander, it's a narrow escape from the cops that involves driving about fourteen hours straight, then doubling back to throw them off.

*

The first two motels they find once they decide they're in the clear are booked solid. The third one they look into makes them uncomfortable with how high-end it is compared to their usual fare. It's practically a _hotel_. That's not the only problem with it, either.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but all I have is a king suite," the girl behind the counter says. Insincere customer-service sympathy shades her features. She's uncertain as to whether they were going to ask for one anyway.

"We'll take it," Sam says from behind his brother. Dean turns; Sam is smiling pleasantly at the clerk.

*

"I'll take the couch," Dean rushes to say as soon as the door is shut.

"Bed's big enough for the both of us, Dean."

Okay then, Dean thinks. It's been weeks since they gave up. Apparently his brother believes they can control themselves this time.

*

Once in bed, the only verbal communication between them is one word:

"Night."

"Night," Dean says back. Under the covers, his hand starts to move closer to Sam. He stops himself, but not in time to prevent finding out that Sam was doing the same.

They can't pull away, can't end the intertwinement of fingers.

"Sammy, tell me no."

In his head, Dean begs his brother to say yes.

Sam clears his throat.

"Dean, no."

It's pretty damn easy to pull away when he hears his little brother say that. The downside is remembering what he did to Sam, why those words strike him to the core now.

He lies there, memories flooding in. Hurting Sam, ignoring pleas to stop, and enjoying it. He's not a demon, sure, doesn't mean he's not a disgusting excuse for a human being now, wanting his own victim. It would be wrong of him to say yes, no matter how ready Sam is.

So Dean tells himself every time he's about to give in.

*

To his horror, in the morning he and Sam are a lot closer than they were when they fell asleep. His little brother has an arm draped over him, and when Sam shifts in his sleep he ends up pulling Dean closer.

Dean closes his eyes and hopes he falls asleep again. Then this will just be a dream he had.

But it feels good to think of himself as somehow a comfort to Sam despite all that's happened. As long as they don't talk about it too much, Dean isn't opposed to being in somebody's arms. If Sam feels like his brother is worth something, worth holding onto, that makes one of them and that's enough.

*

The next time he wakes up, Dean is more than relieved to find himself alone in the bed.

*

As is their habit, they immediately start looking for a new case. There's temptation to call up other hunters, ask if they know of any potential jobs, but they've run into other hunters three times since leaving the bunker and each time had to go through an ordeal of loosely summarizing what happened and insisting that they're both human, good, and nonincestuous. After the brothers passed all the tests, the other hunters had little choice but to believe them, but the lack of trust was plain as day. It was fair; Sam and Dean had been lying about the nature of their relationship the first time.

From what the other hunters told them, the Winchester brothers aren't likely to be welcome in any roadhouse or hunter sanctuary for a long time. The rumors spread and festered after the information Dean provided to Ericka all those months ago—Dean remembers how excited he was for the chance to isolate Sam—and chances are they'll get shot before they have a chance to explain. It was just dumb luck that they encountered their three colleagues in situations where pulling out a gun wasn't an option.

*

They hustle poker at a local bar and win, big-time. Their method of celebrating involves finding a different local establishment and having a few drinks.

With enough alcohol, it's easy to unlock the sexual tension they've been successfully denying, mostly, for weeks. They start to stare, remembering, wanting, and can't bring themselves to stop. Dean wishes he could forget what it feels like to do the things they did. What his brother's lips and tongue can do, Sam's hands on his skin, how the younger man can reduce him to whimpers. The smile Dean can put on Sam's face, the deep groan when-

Dean swallows another shot. He can't think about this. Imagining it is just a step away from trying, and they got far too close this morning.

He scans the bar. At this point he doesn't care who he might fuck, girl or guy. It's just possible that if he sleeps around more, he'll start to appreciate hookups again. What he did with Sam will have to be categorized as "amazing sex he'll never have again."

It only faintly registers to Dean when his brother mumbles he has to take a leak and vanishes. A minute or so later, someone approaches and takes Sam's seat. It's a woman—one with a clear mission that grabs Dean's attention.

"Hey there," she says.

Dean checks her out; it's a simple reflex in this setting even if he wasn't half-hoping to get some distraction. She's alright. Dean's had better, but he's also had a lot worse. Her hair is dyed dark brown, almost matching her eyes, though there are blonde roots visible. Her makeup is, he admits, amazing.

"Hey yourself."

"I'm Tiffany," she volunteers.

"Dean."

***

Sam sees Dean talking to someone and his first feeling is relief that Dean is doing something normal.

His next is drunken jealousy. He takes a few steps toward the pair before stopping himself. If he doesn't want Dean sleeping with her, the question becomes who does he want Dean sleeping with, and they can't go there. They simply cannot have what they want, because life screws them over time and time again and this is one more example.

Dean turns his head and notices Sam standing there. His voice raises slightly and Sam isn't sure but he thinks what he hears is, "Sorry, sweetheart. Seat's taken."

The younger brother dares to approach. There's a glance from Dean, Sam's cue to get into character.

He puts a hand on Dean's lower back.

"Hi."

The woman is taken aback at first but her eyes travel over Sam's body quickly. He hides his discomfort at being looked at that way. The demon did that, a lot. She addresses both:

"Do you ever... share?"

"I don't think that'd be fair to you," Sam says. He feels his brother tense slightly, maybe made uncomfortable by Sam's acting. Not that it is acting, really. He smiles at the woman, sympathetic yet suggestive.

She makes herself scarce after that; Sam sits down.

"Was that what you wanted me to do?" he asks under his breath.

"I have no idea," Dean admits. Sam's face suddenly feels hot. That was a stupid thing to do.

They fall mostly silent as they each imbibe more alcohol, probably both hoping to black out. By the time they stumble out of the bar, Sam doesn't know how many drinks they've had other than "a lot" and "Dean drank more."

When they reach the Impala, he points out:

"Neither of us're good t'drive."

"So less jussleep in the car."

"M'kay."

They fumble with the doors and fall into the backseat, bumping heads a little as they settle into position, near each other but not touching.

"...Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Alcohol makes bad ideas seem like good ideas. Bad ideas like having a heart-to-heart.

"I wish we were real."

"What?"

"I mean, uh..." Sam has to concentrate to find his words. "I wish we were really- really together."

"I know. Me too."

"I'm sorry I'm messed up." Too late, Sam remembers that he's not supposed to say that, especially not to Dean.

"But it's my fault! I messed you up! You don't have to apologize. In fact... I had this idea, Sammy."

The brothers stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds. As serious as their expressions are, it is a very sensual moment.

"Can I kiss you first an' then hear it?" Sam finds himself asking. He shouldn't, but he really wants to and it's not going to go further, and with everything he's had to drink he doesn't see why they can't make out if they both want to.

Hand swaying slightly, Dean holds up a finger.

"Just kissing."

Giving in to the longing he's felt since the moment they forbade it, Sam puts his hands on his brother's face and does his best to lay a kiss on his lips. It's a little sloppy; he has to adjust the position of his mouth a couple times before it's right. Once he does, he and Dean practically melt together, fingers clutching at each other but not daring to do more.

"I miss this," Sam says. "I wanna kiss you all the fuckin' time."

"Mmm..." Dean seems to have no desire to stop but Sam remembers that there was something else.

"Wh'was your idea?"

"My idea..." the elder brother says between kisses, "my idea was maybe we were doin' it wrong. Maybe to fix this, we can't have perfect sex that we're both okay with, that  _I'm_ okay with. Maybe... we should just have sex that _you're_ okay with. 'N screw how I feel."

"That dozen' make... _any_ sense."

"Makes sense to me. I'm the one who stops you even when you say you're good to go. Maybe I just need to get over myself, y'know? Let you give and take what you'n'I want even if it's not... not the _way_ I want."

"Hey." Sam pulls back and grows as stern as he can, enunciates his words clearly: "You don't need to 'get over' it any more than I have to 'get over' what you did to me."

"That's not complee'ly true, Sam. If we want sex and can't both have exactly what we want, then what you're ready for trumps what I'm ready for. Thass the way it's gotta be."

"I don't wanna have sex if it's not something you're okay with. Like, one hundred percent."

"Well me neither but my uncomfortable ain't as bad as your uncomfortable. I'm just gonna have to be okay with not being okay. That's what you wanted before, right?"

Sam lets himself consider it, despite his suspicion that he's too drunk to give a definite answer.

"How bad'll it be for you, Dean? If you know... If you know for a fact that I'm remembering things you did to me, while we're fucking, what's going to happen?"

"I dunno. L'feel sick to my stomach. Guilty. Hell, maybe I won't be able to... you know. But maybe I'll feel like I'm atoning for something, too."

At a loss, rare words come from the younger brother's uninhibited mouth:

"I love you, Dean."

"I know."

"Shud'up," Sam scoffs as he pushes Dean back against the seat and straddles him. He kisses his brother hard and deep and while there's no friction between their groins, they don't need it.

He's aware that things are going too far, but they're not actually touching each other like that. It's a side effect of kissing, that's all.

"This is really hot," Dean points out.

"You're hot."

"Thanks. ...You too."

"You know how hot you are, Dean?"

"Tell me."

"You're so hot I would definitely fuck you right now. But we said we wouldn't."

"...You stole my lines."

"I don't think we're kissing anymore."

"This is less than kissing."

"Yeah but kissing plus less than kissing equals more than kissing. _Math_ , Dean."

"Then we should stop."

"Yeah..." Sam hugs his brother, resting his chin on Dean's shoulder. His face is pressing into the seat somewhat but that's okay. It smells like home. He figures if they stop kissing their boners will go away.

His mind wanders from erections to physiological reactions in general to how emotions affect the body to the last few times he utterly lost control over everything. Not even alcohol can cloud some memories.

Mid-June 2014, almost an entire year ago. When he first found Dean's bed empty of Dean's corpse. His brother was just _gone_ and he'd left a note that could be interpreted a few ways and Sam started calling his name as he searched the bunker. First he checked the places that made some vague sense for a reanimated Dean to have gone—infirmary, bathroom, kitchen, library—and then he went on to the rooms that didn't—storage rooms, his own bedroom, the dungeon. He was moving at almost a run and practically screaming by the time he checked the garage.

The Impala being gone was the last straw. If he'd been thinking more clearly he would have managed to remember that tracking his brother, especially in his car, wasn't a lost cause, but coherency and logic were gone at that point. The tears he'd been blinking back burst free and he collapsed against a pillar. He dropped to the floor, jarring his teeth and biting his tongue in the process. The tastes of blood and disgusting snotty tears from his nose filled his mouth as he begged, prayed to Dean to come back. Dean's death was bad enough—it's been worse every time. Losing him, and not even knowing to what, nearly destroyed every ounce of strength Sam had. It all seemed so hopeless.

He stayed there so long, Castiel showed up.

_"Where's Dean? Metatron told me that he's dead, please tell me it's not true."_

Sam couldn't even form a one-syllable word to answer the angel. He didn't dare try to stand because he was afraid he'd punch Cas out of frustration and devastation, or maybe just collapse into another gasping, sobbing mess.

 _"Sam, please, just answer one damn question!"_ Sam couldn't, though, even knowing how much Cas cared about his brother. Frustration growing, eventually Castiel asked, _"Sam, may I read your thoughts?"_ Still believing there was an angel out there who knew his each and every dark secret and private thought, the human figured he had nothing to lose by letting Cas look through his memories. Plus, he wouldn't have to say it out loud later.

Cas was quick about it but it was painful for both of them to review what had transpired. Afterwards, the fingers on his forehead moved and became a hand grasping his shoulder.

And finally, a promise:

 _"We_ will _find Dean, my friend."_

And Sam did, but he didn't get his brother back for a long time, and it cost Castiel his existence.

"Sam?"

"...Sorry," the younger man says as he realizes that he's shed a few tears in the present and Dean has taken notice. "Guess I'm a sad drunk tonight."

"That's okay, Sammy." Dean pats his back until Sam moves back to a normal seated position next to him.

They fall asleep—or just pass out—leaning against each other's warmth.

*

Between the hangover and dim memories of what happened the previous night, Sam mostly comprises regret and embarrassment in the morning.

And dilemma, once his head clears a little. He remembers what Dean suggested. The temptation to say yes is strong, but so is the belief that two wrongs don't make a right, at least not for this. The idea of sex when Dean is uncomfortable... he doesn't like it. Dean's not allowed to use sex as punishment for what he did and that's what this feels like.

He has to admit, however, that this is exactly what he wanted for himself. For Dean to let him power through memories that arise if he can. He did his best not to ask for it out loud, knowing Dean would let it happen.

Now his brother is offering it. It took some alcohol to get it out in the open, but it had taken one simple look at Dean's face in sober daylight to know he meant it.

Sam shouldn't do it; it'd be selfish and wrong to take advantage of Dean's guilt.

Why the hell is sex so important to them, anyway? Why can't they leave well enough alone? They tasted the proverbial forbidden fruit and what, now they're junkies for it?

Sam scoffs at himself. He's been a junkie. So depraved, so desperate, he crossed lines he shouldn't have. Here he is again.

He can justify it easy enough. He could say that Dean is being selfish too by accepting what Sam wants to give him, regardless of the emotional consequences for both of them. He could say that this isn't selfish the way demon blood was because he has Dean's actual permission. He could say that he deserves to have this after what happened over the past year.

But the universe owing him one doesn't mean it's not selfish.

*

Sam spends most of that day and the next thinking about it. Dean gets tired of being ignored and goes off on his own, returning just after the sun sets below the horizon.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Sam is sitting at the table. He only needs to say one more word:

"Dean."

Uncertain, Dean makes his way to the chair opposite Sam.

"Sam."

"You remember what you said when we were drunk."

Dean is silent; it's just a statement. Sam continues:

"If something we do brings up memories, you want to let me power through it even though it hurts you."

"Yes."

They look into each other's eyes until Sam can't take it.

"Shit, why can't I say no?" he mutters as he puts his face in his hands, elbows on the table.

"You can, Sam."

"Do you want me to?"

"Goddamn it, Sam, if I was just doing this out of guilt, it would have taken a little longer for me to let you give me a blowjob. Know what? I'm sick of being polite about it. I want to sex up every inch of you, I want to see your face when you're riding my cock, I want you to look at me and not even need to say yes because it's so damn obvious- yeah, like that."

Sam had looked up when Dean started talking dirty. Now finding himself gripping the edge of the table, he does his best not to show the overwhelming lust his brother has just evoked.

"I realized," Dean continues, "maybe the only way we can get what we want is by hurting. Sacrifice."

Hoping to calm his body, Sam manages a slight change of subject.

"Do you still want me to let you know? If you're making me remember something that happened?"

"Only if you want me to know. Just don't lie to me if I ask."

"I won't lie about it."

"Okay then. And we don't have to stop if you're okay. I mean, we can stop. We can always stop if you want to. But with me, you have to ignore it if I don't look like I'm into it."

"Only if there's a safe word. That you'll use."

Dean's lips twitch in a confused smile but he doesn't argue.

"What do you want it to be?"

"Uh... 'salt'?"

"Salt it is." Dean scoffs but that's the extent of his teasing about it.

At that point, Sam can't get up without revealing that he's hard. Then he thinks about it. That's not actually a problem now, is it.

Despite all the mental conflict, much like his brother, sometimes at the end of the day Sam just wants to get off and not think about the past. He stands, deciding to jerk off in the bathroom if Dean doesn't have a better idea.

Naturally, Dean's eyes lock on to the bulge. His lips part; his breathing is as heavy as Sam's.

"Is right now a good time?" Sam asks.

"Long as it is for you."

"C'mon, then."

Both men shed their overshirts and shoes by the time they collide. Dean's confidence seems to tone down; his kisses and touches are gentler than the descriptions of his fantasies.

Sam already has his brother's t-shirt slipping off; he pulls away just enough to look at and appreciate Dean. It's not that he's into guys now; he just loves Dean both inside and out. What he's seeing means his brother and if the meaning of a thing is "Dean" then Sam wants it.

They rub against each other, more clothing being thrown onto the floor, until Sam nudges Dean down onto the bed. On his back, Dean spreads his legs, feet still on the floor. His face and body are already flushed; his erection is tenting his boxers.

"What d'you want me to do, Sam?"

To lie there and want to be pleasured and let Sam take care of him is the real answer, but they've tried that. They've tried most things that weren't too close to anything the demon had done. Thing is, the demon tried out pretty much everything.

It doesn't matter as much if what they do reminds him of those times, but Sam isn't going to half-ass it.

It had occurred to him in recent weeks that maybe what they needed wasn't 'something different' but a distraction. What can they do now that's strange enough to keep his and Dean's minds off of the bad between them?

"Tell me your ideas, Dean."

"I think I want you to fuck me."

"I want to try something weird."

"...How weird?"

"Like..." Sam looks around the room for inspiration. Maybe just a strange position. Or on an unusual piece of furniture. Or against the wall. Or...

"Stand up."

Dean obeys. Sam takes him by the shoulder and walks him towards the bathroom, discreetly grabbing lube on the way.

It's quite possibly the most beautiful hotel bathroom he's been in. Double sinks, black marble countertop, a flawless mirror spanning the wall above it.

He stands next to Dean, both facing the mirror. He whispers in his ear, keeping one eye on the reflection of his brother's face.

"You want to watch us, Dean? Think we should see ourselves come?"

There's intrigue, curiosity, and a little fear in Dean's face and stance at first. He's awkwardly holding onto his upper arm in an anxious gesture.

It all slowly changes to a steely resolve.

"Yes." He flattens both his hands on the counter. "Fuck me. Fuck me in front of this goddamn mirror."

Sam ever so gently presses his lips to the side of Dean's neck. He watches goosebumps rise.

"You have to ask, Dean."

"Will you fuck me in front of the mirror?"

"Yes." Sam immediately has his hands on his brother's boxers. A large damp spot over the protuberance of Dean's cock gets his attention. With one hand holding the elastic out of the way, the other peels the wet cloth from hard flesh at a snail's pace.

"Look at you, Dean. You're wetter than a girl."

The moan and fresh pre-come are exactly what Sam hoped would happen. He finishes removing the sticky fabric; Dean steps out of it and kicks it away. Sam then stands behind him, pressing his own erection against his brother's backside.

"Honest, I've never seen you so turned on," he adds, running his hands up and down Dean's sides. He stares at his brother's dick in the mirror. So hard and red.

"I want you so bad, Sam." Dean looks at the reflection of his brother's eyes, looking over his shoulder. "It's just..."

"Me too," Sam murmurs to rescue his brother from finishing the sentence.

He surveys their options. The closer they can be to the mirror, the better. He wants Dean to face himself and to face Sam, see that it's okay.

"Hey," Dean says. After shoving the hotel's complimentary shampoo bottles to the side, he gets on the counter in the wide space between the two sinks. With his legs folded under him, he lets his feet and ass hang off the edge. His knees spread, putting his dick on display. The only thing he doesn't get to see is the shine of the younger man's pre-come on his lower back.

"Yes..." Sam says under his breath as he lubes up his fingers. He slides one into Dean's ass, drawing out another moan.

Dean reaches for, Sam assumes, his cock, but instead lifts his balls out of the way while tilting his hips up.

"Holy fuck." The pair of them watch Sam's finger in the mirror, stretching Dean, pushing in further, eventually withdrawing to be joined by a second finger.

By the time Sam has three fingers working in and out, massaging Dean's prostate, the elder of the two has lost any and all powers of silence and coherency. The semi-intelligible words coming out of his mouth are limited to expletives and pleas.

Sam decides Dean is stretched enough. He keeps his hand on the counter, denying both of them his touch.

"There're two things that never happened... back then." Sam takes a deep breath, lets it out. "One, we never faced each other. Tonight we're making it a point. If, y'know..."

"I'll try anything once," Dean declares, then amending, "Or twice."

Sam just shakes his head slightly in affectionate exasperation.

"Two," he soon continues, "you were always in control, you were always the one doing things. I want to fuck you and I don't want you to do a single thing tonight but enjoy it."

"For tonight," Dean says. Pure, informed consent.

"You'll let me know if you aren't?"

"Yeah. Promise."

"One more question..." Sam reaches past Dean, touches the mirror. He slides his fingertips over the reflection of his brother's cock. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing but Dean seems to be appreciating the strange erotic-by-proxy gesture. "You want to come now, Dean, or after I fuck you?"

"After. Please."

There's one more slow slide of his fingers over the living image. Dean exhales sharply.

"You got it."

The counter looks sturdy enough for the both of them, so he pushes Dean forward and gets up on his knees. In no time, he has his cock lubed up and he's grasping Dean's hips, pulling his brother up and at last guiding himself inside. Dean sighs and takes him easily, but keeps to the agreement that Sam is fully in charge and remains as still and relaxed as he can.

It's just so _right_ to be inside Dean, as if their bond runs so deep it can't be physically denied any longer.

Sam rests his chin on his brother's shoulder to survey the reflection in front of them. Dean's legs are spread even wider than before, knees pressing against the mirror while his engorged cock is nearly brushing against the glass. His chest is already gleaming with sweat and his palms are flat against the mirror. His face—Sam has to stop and take it in for a little longer.

"You good, Dean?" he asks, partly to fill the silence. He doubts Dean could fake all this, at least with him. Shining eyes, a naughty smile with parted lips, flushed cheeks.

"Yeah... You?"

Sam looks at himself, though he's mostly hidden by Dean's body.

Mirrors have been tough for him. It was the strangest thing, looking into a mirror and being unable to find his own face. He didn't exist. That's what the demon did to him, crushed Sam under his heel until Sam was nothing. No voice, no will, no control—he had nothing left but the idea of Dean.

The issue has gotten a lot better these days, but it's still a pleasant surprise that his reflection is true. He thinks he sees hope, affection, love, and a little desperation in his face, but what matters to him is that he can see himself, that he feels like he exists.

"Yes," he says. "Ready?"

Dean braces himself against the mirror with his left forearm and gives a little nod; Sam begins to move. They're slow, experimental thrusts at first, like they always are. Eventually he finds a good angle for hitting the sweet spot inside Dean and breaks into a grin as the moans get louder. He keeps going, both of them loving it. This is so damn close to what they're supposed to be.

It's not quite the give-and-take they both want. It's just that they're not ready for that yet. They're going to be out of whack for a while, but not forever. That's what Sam decides. Not believes or hopes, _decides. Chooses._ This will happen, as long as it's what Dean wants, too.

They've reached the plateau stage, where it's all just beautiful friction and rhythm, and Sam's mind wants to wander but he stares into the mirror instead, tries to feel nothing but skin and sex.

"Want to come now, Dean?"

"Wanna come on nothing but your cock," is the breathless reply.

Months ago now. Months ago, the demon said that. _Why_ does Sam have to remember it all so clearly?

He slows but does not stop. Can he just ignore the memories it calls to mind? Should he, even when Dean recognizes the signs?

Yes, he can focus on something else. Watch Dean in the mirror. Watch him being limp with bliss, eyes having drifted shut. Watch the head of Dean's cock getting pushed against the mirror. Kiss his neck ever so softly. Concentrate on his brother, how it's just them—no sulfur, no demon blood, no facades. This is now. That was then.

"Dean, look at me."

Green. His brother has irises of green and the only black in his eye is his wide pupils. Nothing is allowed to change that.

But Sam sees Dean's eyes watering and realizes his own face is giving too much away.

"Keep going, Sam. If you want to." Dean is hiding now, eyelids closed tight.

"Not like this. I'll keep pushing if you want me to, but I don't want this to happen if you can't face me."

Dean looks at the reflection of his brother's face.

"I couldn't face you before. When I was a demon. I was afraid it would wake up something human inside."

"Well now you can." Sam takes his brother's forearm, holds it up. "The Mark's gone. You're human." He speeds his thrusts until Dean is gasping again and continues: "Look at us, Dean. Just fucking _look_. You're sweaty and strung out, you're being fucked because we both want it. You're not a demon. You're not going to hurt me. Look at yourself. You never hurt your brother." Sam keeps all the qualifiers to that statement to himself. "Say it."

"I never hurt my brother," Dean whispers.

It strikes Sam only in that moment that perhaps it's not just his own abused mind that won't let him forget.

"Say it to me."

"Sam, why are you doing this?"

"Say it _for_ me," the younger man says. "Tell me."

"I never hurt you, Sammy. I'll never hurt you. You're safe." Dean seems to be getting it. Maybe he doesn't fully believe it yet, but the Winchesters are experts at faking it 'til they make it. "You're safe, Sam."

Sam understands now. It wasn't just about needing something different or a distraction. His flashbacks are about more than memories, more than Dean looking like the demon who hurt him. It's Dean's guilt, Dean's fear resonating with Sam's. Sam can't help but absorb his brother's feelings about the situation, take them in until they manifested as memories.

Maybe they still won't work after this revelation, but why in all these months had neither of them thought to say it? It was so obvious; they didn't think it mattered, did they? Of course Dean would never hurt his little brother again; they both knew it, yet they both feared it on the deepest levels. They avoided talking about it, avoided trying to "help each other heal," but it could help heal both of them.

"I'm safe," Sam replies. Reassurement for both of them.

He continues to fuck his brother, more into it now that they've gotten past the biggest speed bump. He lets thoughts melt to plain emotions as climax approaches for both of them.

He sees his own desperate, euphoric face contorting. He wraps one arm around Dean's waist, the other around his chest, wanting him closer, as close as possible. He thinks at the back of his mind he's going to make his brother deaf in one ear with all the sounds he can't help but make. Some are words, some aren't; they all get louder until he comes deep inside Dean.

Panting with his mouth wide open, he presses the side of his face against his brother's neck as pleasure takes over. He can't keep his eyes open during the final orgasmic thrusts; it's just too much. In his head is _yes_ and _Dean_ and _holy fuck_ and _oh god_.

If he finishes Dean, he doesn't need to complete the thought and right now he can't anyway, just _if he finishes Dean_.

Eyes open once again, Sam surveys the two of them, his body mostly shielded while Dean's is spread wide open. Wanting, vulnerable, in some sort of awe having watched his brother come inside him from a whole new angle.

The younger man lets his hand slide down Dean's sweat-drenched body. He tickles Dean's inner thigh while licking sweat from his throat. Precome is dripping down the mirror as well as his brother's cock.

"Please, Sammy," Dean whines, muscles clenching at the teasing sensations. His sweating palms slip and slide against the mirror. "Will you...?"

"Yes." All that's needed is a little friction; Sam's hand can oblige. He adds, "Try to keep your eyes open."

Dean comes after just a few touches, white streaks landing on the mirror in front of him. His head falls back to his brother's shoulder but his eyes remain half-open, obeying the best he can. His whole body twitches as Sam continues to milk a few more drops out. He's nearly whimpering as he says Sam's name, fingers trying to curl against the glass.

The climax fades; Sam pulls out. He's careful to keep an arm around Dean as he slips off the counter. He stands next to his brother, leans against him a little.

Sweat-soaked strands of hair are sticking to his forehead, a few drops of come had splashed back onto Dean, and he can't imagine what their knees are going to look like in the morning. Their breathing finally slows and he sums it up:

"That- that was different, Dean." They both know what he means. _It fucking worked._ If they accomplished this once, they can do it again. They might even manage something better.

Dean gives a lazy, sated grin, hiding anything deeper he might be feeling.

"Damn straight." He tilts his head at the mess he made of the mirror and traces a few lines in his drying come with his index finger. "Fucking in front of a mirror is dirty."

Sam rolls his eyes at the purposeful misinterpretation.

"I mean, before tonight," Dean continues, "I thought 'kinky' with you would be playing 'Brother, May I?'"

The eye-rolling escalates to a scoff.

Dean swivels around and gets off the counter. He doesn't need to ask permission this time; he just wraps his arms around Sam in the kind of big-brother hug that used to mark a return from the dead. Sam shuts his eyes tight and gives back all he can. No matter what they become, they're not broken.

*

_Fear. Betrayal. Pain. Failure. Nonexistence. Sam cannot escape._

He wakes up to a hand on his shoulder and his brother's voice.

"Sammy, wake up!"

For a second, Sam's heart beats even faster in terror. His nightmare is- no, his nightmare is gone. This is his brother, who is safe. He's in the hotel room.

Without a word, he feels for his brother's arm in the dark. Dean's right forearm. There is no Mark, no scar, no sign tactile nor visible that there ever was a curse embedded in that flesh.

"Nightmare?" Dean asks.

"No."

"You can tell me about it."

"No!" Sam withdraws, shrugs the hand off his shoulder.

There's a silence. Sam is still stressed from the nightmare and his having to say no to his brother twice in a row. That makes them even in his mind; Dean's probably already realized his mistake and feels like shit. He's surprised when the older man is the first one to speak up again.

"...Are you going to say no again?"

There is an insignificant lightening of the mood.

"Yes."

Dean lets out a breath and finally leaves Sam alone.

*

He doesn't really leave it alone. Hours later, they're driving and Dean brings it up again.

"Is sleeping together a mistake?"

"It's not a mistake."

"You had a nightmare, though."

"It was just a dream."

"Would it... y'know, help to talk about it?"

"...It wouldn't help you."

"That's not what I was asking."

"It might, I don't know."

"Then why not tell me?"

"Because... Dean, you know why."

"You told me last night that _I_ never hurt you. If you're having bad dreams about something or someone that's not me, why not tell me?"

"Dean..."

"We're not supposed to help each other feel better, Sam. But you said that I never hurt you, and you made me believe it for a few hours. So... talk to me. Unless you've got somebody else who'll listen."

Sam almost lies, only to keep his mouth shut at the last moment. He could be like Dean, just refuse to say it, shut his brother out, but that's not him.

"You." He lets that word hang ambiguously for a few seconds. "I dreamt that you came into my room, you shoved me down on the bed, and you-" Sam can't look at his brother's face; he stares straight ahead at the road. "You wouldn't let me up. You weren't holding me down with magic, it was just you, but no matter what I did you kept me pinned down."

"Anything else?" Dean asks after the younger man falls silent.

"Yeah," is the whispered reply. Sam refuses to elaborate if Dean doesn't specifically request it.

"...Wish I'd woken you up sooner."

Sam turns his head. Dean is swallowing hard, staring intently at the road.

Sighing, he wonders how he and his brother ever seriously thought that they could avoid this. They spend so much time together and they have so few friends left, even with their aversion to talking about "stuff" it was inevitable that they would share their darker thoughts and feelings while expending emotional energy trying to comfort each other.

They simply cannot win, not with a clean victory. Maybe there won't be any more nightmares; maybe there will. Maybe every time they have sex, they'll have to pause for a pep talk. Maybe Sam will never be able to tolerate his brother, or anyone else, touching him in certain ways. Maybe Dean will never be able to hear "no" or "stop" from him without the slightest cringe. There will be more flashbacks that Dean won't want to be a part of, awkward moments when Sam comes off as being a little bloodthirsty, the wrong things said at the wrong time, other painful reminders. Sacrifices, as Dean said. But also what they had last night, being as physically close as two halves of a soul can be, being happy. Having what they wanted and wanting what they had.

And Sam will take it; he'll take it all as long as Dean is willing. It's how they live—a little bit of paradise, a whole lot of hell.

"It's okay, Dean."

"...Really."

"Yes. I mean, it's going to be. Really."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sam and Dean Winchester are professional codependent brothers living in a fictional universe where abusive relationships can sometimes be magically fixed. [Do not attempt.](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/35713094)
> 
> Well. It's finished. I'm sorry this took so long. I hope that the conclusion of this story was at least partly worth the wait for my readers, some of whom have been following for over 9 months as I slowly completed the longest work I've ever written.
> 
> Huge thanks to readers, reviewers/commenters, everyone who left kudos, at least one person who rec'd this fic on Tumblr (!), my sister who among other things came up with why Cas didn't free Sam in the dungeon, my best friend who couldn't read this but answered some tough questions that were fundamental for the final chapters, roguishfeathers who helped in more ways I can express, and others who helped whether I/they knew it or not. I'm pretty sure I somehow still left somebody out...
> 
> Lastly, I now dedicate this story to a close friend of mine whom I cannot in good conscience ask to read this. But he might, and if he does...
> 
> Wish I'd written this sooner.


End file.
